tw  /^x 


MARK  ENDERBY:  ENGINEER 


The  steady  brain  and  eye  and  hand  of  Enderby  played  upon  them  as 
confidently  as  a  trained  hand  plays  upon  a  well -strung  harp. 


MARK    ENDERBY 
ENGINEER 


BY 


ROBERT  FULKERSON  HOFFMAN 


WITH  FOUR  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
WILLIAM  HARNDEN   FOSTER 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.   McCLURG  &  CO. 
1910 


COPYRIGHT 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
1910 

Published  October  22,  1910 


Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  England 


Through  the  courtesy  of  Messrs.  Charles  Scribner's  Sons  and  The  Frank  A.  Munsey 
Co.,  some  material  which  appeared  in  Scribner's  Magazine  as  "  Turquoise  and  Gold  " 
and  "The  Phoenix  of  AltaVista,"  and  in  The  Railroad  Man 's  Magazine  sea  "Against 
the  Mountain,"  "The  Fires  of  Sorrow,"  etc.,  is  used  in  revised  form  in  "Mark  En- 
derby  :  Engineer."  With  this  exception,  the  story,  as  a  whole,  is  new. 


TO 

MEN  WHO  KNOW  THE  CUNNING  OF  THE  DESERT, 
MEN  WHO  MEET  THE  SUN  UPON  THE  HEIGHT, 

MEN  WHO   RIDE  IN  THUNDER-TONES  OF  STORM  WINDS, 

MEN  WHO  KNOW  THE  VOICES  OF  THE  NIGHT. 


2133038 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I     A  PEACEFUL  DAY'S  RUN 11 

II     AGAINST  THE  MOUNTAIN 20 

III     ROCK-A-BY  JOHNSON 43 

IV     A  TANGLE  IN  RED  TAPE 56 

V     THE  FOUR-EYED  Cuss 69 

VI     DINWIDDY'S  DEBT 87 

VII     A  JAB  AT  JIM  LUCERO 102 

VIH     THE  VOICES 118 

IX     HARPER'S  ROUGH  NIGHT 129 

X     THE  PRODIGAL  SON 144 

XI     HORRIGAN'S  MEDAL 161 

XII     RECLAIMING  SHACKSTON 178 

XIII     JOHNNIE 196 

XIV  THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  FLYER     .....  210 

XV  PARRY,  AS  A  MAKER  or  WAYS     ....  227 

XVI     MCPELTRIE'S  WOOING 247 

XVII     THE  FIRES  OF  SORROW 265 

XVni     A  MODERN  MAZEPPA 286 

XIX     DAVY  SHARER'S  STAMPEDE 304 

XX     Doc.  MAXON:  VOLUNTEER 321 

XXI     ENDERBY'S  CHOICE 335 

XXII     MAXON'S  RETURN 352 

XXIII  MAKING  A  CHIEFTAIN                                        .  360 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

The  steady  brain  and  eye  and  hand  of  Enderby  played 
upon  them  as  confidently  as  a  trained  hand  plays  upon 
a  well-strung  harp Frontispiece 

"  Dodson,  it  means  blood !     Steady,  now,  but  back !  "  82 

Rejoicing  in  her  strength,  booming  forth  her  deep- 
voiced  defiance  to  the  winds 222 

"  I  hit  them  there,  Maxon  —  God  help  me  to  forget !  "  .   296 


MARK    ENDERBY:   ENGINEER 

CHAPTER  I 
A  PEACEFUL  DAY'S  RUN 

4  4    A     LL,  the  world  loves  a  lover,"  twittered  a  little  woman 
/  V     who  stood  with  her  friends  just  below  the  cab  win- 
dow of  Mark  Enderby's  engine. 

She  set  her  hat  straighter  upon  her  head,  she  believed,  and 
patted  her  back  hair  until  it  suited  her  imagination,  meanwhile 
smiling  benignly  after  John  Parry  and  his  young  wife  whom 
she  had  never  before  seen  and  whom  she  probably  never  saw 
again.  They,  making  their  way  self-consciously  down  the 
platform,  were  evidently  embarking  upon  a  life  adventure  by 
way  of  Mark  Enderby's  train.  That  he  should  one  day  bear 
a  part  in  the  weaving  of  darker  woof  upon  this  bright  strand 
of  warp  in  the  railroad's  giant  loom  was  quite  beyond  his 
present  seeing,  for  Enderby  knew  the  glad  young  people  not 
at  all. 

The  little  group  beneath  the  cab  window  dissolved  into  the 
hurrying  throngs  in  the  big  train-shed,  and  if  the  chance  repe- 
tition of  the  old  saw  which,  perhaps,  holds  more  of  jingle 
than  of  truth,  made  any  impression  upon  Mark's  faculties  he 
gave  no  outward  sign  of  it.  True,  a  brighter  gleam  may 
have  lighted  his  eyes  for  an  instant  as  he  continued  to  look 
back  along  the  train,  but,  passing  that,  he  took  no  more  no- 
tice of  the  speaker  or  the  young  folks  than  of  the  hundreds 
of  others  who  were  parts  of  the  animated  scene. 

[11] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

Coming  directly  to  the  point,  Enderby,  in  some  respects, 
was  disappointing  as  a  locomotive  engineer,  but,  in  reality, 
there  are  many  undiscovered  Enderbys.  That  is  to  say,  he 
was  not  down  on  the  platform  before  a  group  of  admiring 
passengers,  doing  unnecessary  oiling ;  or  feeling  of  the  driv- 
ing axle  centres  with  the  back  of  his  hand  to  learn  if  they  had 
run  hot,  when  he  knew  that  the  engine  had  been  standing  in 
the  roundhouse  for  the  last  ten  hours;  nor  was  he  loosening 
needle-feeds  in  the  oil  cups  in  order  to  look  profoundly  at 
them  and  tighten  them  up  again,  when  they  were  all  right  in 
the  beginning.  In  short,  Mark  never  made  a  play  to  the 
grandstand  and  would  not  have  known  how  to  go  about  it. 
He  made  his  important  preparations  at  the  roundhouse. 

When  he  got  the  signal  he  was  watching  for,  he  withdrew 
his  calm-eyed  old  visage  into  the  cab  and,  with  an  after-dinner 
sigh,  dropped  his  hand  caressingly  upon  the  brake-valve  and 
released  the  brakes.  He  looked  out  again  for  the  answering 
signal  from  the  far  end  of  the  dusky  train-shed.  It  came,  and 
when  he  settled  comfortably  upon  his  cushion,  his  young  fire- 
man was  fuming  about  a  leaking  flue  and  had  just  succeeded 
in  kicking  the  fire-door  shut  in  a  way  that  did  not  at  all  com- 
port with  his  good-natured  face. 

"  Billy,  did  you  hear  what  the  little  lady  said  of  you  ?  " 
queried  Enderby.  "  Think  she  ever  heard  of  Nora,  out  on 
the  mountain?  " 

"  Not  about  me,"  said  stalwart  Billy  Bane,  with  emphasis. 
"  I  can  improve  upon  it,  though :  '  All  the  world  kicks  a 
kicker  ' —  or  ought  to.  If  that  man  at  the  roundhouse  would 
quit  kicking  and  calk  flues,  we  could  do  better  on  this  run, 
with  less  coal  charged  against  us.  This  flat  country  is  easy, 
but  I  'd  rather  fight  the  mountain." 


A      PEACEFUL      DAY'S      RUN 

"  Don't  kick,  Billy,"  counselled  Enderby,  with  much 
gravity.  "  We  do  pretty  well  sometimes.  Promotion  com- 
ing, then  the  mountain  !  " 

Billy  grinned  guiltily  and  climbed  upon  his  seat-box  to 
wait  for  the  starting  signal.  When  they  got  it,  and  the 
shrill  treble  of  the  little  air-whistle  in  the  cab  died  away, 
Enderby  opened  the  throttle  as  gently  as  one  might  draw 
upon  a  softly  opened  door;  and,  as  gently,  the  engine  at 
first  responded. 

There  is  a  moment  that  is  dear  to  the  heart  of  an  engineer 
and  yet  it  is  one  in  which  the  engine,  to  the  inexperienced 
onlooker,  seems  to  fail  of  its  promise  of  strength.  It  is  that 
moment  in  which  the  eye  of  the  man  in  the  cab  is  fixed  upon 
the  floor,  or  the  earth,  at  the  side  of  the  track,  and  the  for- 
ward movement  of  the  engine  is  so  slight  that  only  that 
view  will  reveal  it  to  him.  It  is  the  actual  beginning  of  the 
day's  run. 

They  drew  out  through  the  wide-arching  mouth  of  the 
train-shed,  into  the  afternoon  sun,  and  crossed,  from  lead 
to  lead,  down  through  the  teeming  city  yard.  Curving  his 
able  body  above  the  clacking  reverse  lever  Enderby  drew  its 
resisting  length  up  for  quicker  speed  and  latched  it  safe  and 
high  in  the  quadrant.  Joy  and  hope,  despair  and  failure, 
young  life  and  the  quiet  dead;  a  magistrate,  late  from  his 
ermine,  and  a  madman,  bound;  the  wealth  of  a  kingdom, 
in  golden  bars  in  the  express  car,  only  a  car's  length  from 
the  cluttered  possessions  of  a  party  of  bewildered  immi- 
grants,—  all  of  these  trailed  in  the  lee  of  the  big  engine. 
All  of  them,  to  him,  were  the  train.  It  was  his  to  move 
them,  swift  and  sure,  to  deliver  them  up  where  desired,  or, 
at  farthest,  at  the  station  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  across 

[13] 


MARK      ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

the  prairie,  that  to  him  differed  from  all  other  stations, 
because  it  was  home  —  though  the  mountains  were  calling, 
calling. 

The  city  fell  behind  like  a  swiftly  rolled  canvas  of  neutral 
tints  and  they  curved  around  the  southern  shore  of  Lake 
Michigan,  where  surf-caps  rolled  white  upon  the  tawny  beach 
and  seemed  to  fall  away  brokenly  among  the  sand  pines.  A 
touch  of  the  hand  upon  the  brake-valve,  now  and  then,  to 
steady  the  long  line  of  coaches  upon  the  curves ;  the  expir- 
ing sigh  of  release,  upon  the  tangent;  the  momentary  stam- 
mering of  the  exhaust  while  a  yielding  but  sure  grip  reset 
the  fighting  reverse  lever;  the  firm,  almost  imperceptible 
play  of  the  hand  upon  the  throttle ;  the  quickening  speed ; 
again,  the  grinding  restraint  upon  the  smooth  running 
wheels,  until  the  signal-arms  beckoned  them  onward. 
These  were  the  animating  forces  that  controlled  the  fate  of 
the  hurrying  cavalcade  of  wheels  with  its  motley  burden  of 
life,  and  the  steady  brain  and  eye  and  hand  of  Enderby 
played  upon  them  as  confidently  as  a  trained  hand  plays 
upon  a  well-strung  harp. 

The  run  was  on  and  he  was  composedly  a  part  of  it,  as 
silent,  serene,  and  alone  as  though  in  the  heart  of  a  forest. 
Ruled  by  the  primal  laws  of  compensation  in  nature, 
Enderby's  mind  was  instinctively  working  its  own  econo- 
mies. An  otherwise  unbearable  physical  hurt  brings  numb- 
ness that  is  near  to  physical  comfort.  A  crushing  mental 
shock  often  gives  mental  quiet  like  that  of  deep  peace.  An 
accustomed  tumultuous  world  of  sound  eventually  gives 
mental  concentration  that  sharpens  every  faculty,  gives 
alertness  for  the  hearing  and  sight  of  the  unusual,  and  leaves 
the  mind  free  to  deal  chiefly  with  that. 

Thus  Enderby  ran  placidly  on,  reading  signals,  home  and 

[14] 


A      PEACEFUL      DAY'S      RUN 

distant,  distant  and  clear,  and  Billy  worked  methodically 
upon  the  deck,  rejoicing  in  the  decreasing  leak  and  finding 
anew  that  trouble  is  sometimes  worse  in  the  offing  than  when 
it  comes  nearer,  to  be  vanquished. 

Towns  and  hamlets  arose  out  of  the  beautiful  flats  of  the 
prairie,  took  on  a  momentary  importance,  and  slowly  sunk 
into  the  low  distance  behind  the  flying  train.  The  bell  sang 
its  musical  crooning  note  and  the  whistle  droned  across  the 
wide  spaces,  where  no  hill  sent  back  its  voice,  and  the  smil- 
ing land  received  them  with  a  wide-flung  welcome,  as  in  days 
gone,  and  with  happy  promise  for  the  days  to  come. 

Now  and  again,  at  the  vanishing  point  of  the  tracks  ahead, 
an  atom  of  black  indented  the  low  and  level  sky-line.  Slowly, 
for  a  time,  it  lifted  its  deceptive  bulk  more  clearly  into  Ender- 
by's  field  of  sight.  Then,  swiftly,  with  breathless  haste,  it 
loomed  a  menacing,  rushing  hulk  of  power  and  fierce  action, 
with  wide-trailing  plumes  of  white  and  black  and  swirling 
gray.  It  bore  down  upon  him,  and  he  upon  it,  with  a  resist- 
less, final  plunge  and  loud-voiced  shouting.  And,  just  when 
crashing  impact  and  annihilation  seemed  most  near  and  com- 
plete, the  big  engine  of  a  plodding  freight  or  speeding  ex- 
press shot  safely  past  him  in  parallel  and  left  with  Enderby 
only  a  brief  and  vivid  memory  of  the  striking  of  a  single  clear 
note  from  an  engine  bell  which  seemed,  instantly,  to  have 
struck  and  sunk  to  unfathomable  depths  in  the  ocean  of  sound 
that  surged  steadily  in  his  keenly  attuned  ears. 

Once,  toward  evening,  a  galloping  horse  attached  to  a 
wildly  rocking  buggy  raced  up  a  country  lane  between  the 
green  hedges,  to  contest  with  the  engine  for  the  moment  of 
crossing.  The  space  between  them  narrowed,  narrowed, 
closer  and  closer,  until  a  flying  curtain  waved  like  a  victorious 
banner,  from  the  rear  of  the  outfit,  after  it  had  safely  won 

[15] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

the  crossing  by  an  instant's  lead,  the  exultant  occupant  un- 
aware that,  but  for  Enderby's  slight  movement  at  the  brake- 
valve,  the  little  comedy  would  have  been,  instead,  a  thing  for 
his  friends  to  weep  over. 

When  the  train  stopped  at  a  village  that  boasted  the  name 
of  "  Victory  "  upon  its  small  station  board,  a  little  company 
awaited  the  home-coming  of  the  silent  passenger  in  the 
baggage  car.  With  bared  heads  they  walked  haltingly  under 
the  weight  which  the  train  gave  up  to  them  and,  sliding  it 
reverently  into  the  waiting,  mud-stained  spring-wagon  by 
the  track,  they  placed  a  seat  across  it  and  thus  rode  away 
with  the  great  city's  contribution  to  the  quiet  village  church- 
yard. 

In  silence,  Enderby  and  Billy  watched  the  speaking  scene 
and,  when  they  started  on  again,  the  hand  upon  the 
throttle  drew  it  open  with  a  kindly  touch,  the  bell,  under 
Billy's  steady  hand,  seemed  to  sound  a  slower  note,  and  the 
mournful  chime  of  the  whistle,  across  all  of  that  broad  coun- 
try, to  bear  a  deeper  significance. 

But  the  extra  minutes  used  in  the  stop  were  to  be  re- 
gained, and  Enderby  went  calmly  about  it,  touching,  adjust- 
ing, urging,  restraining;  until  the  long  line  of  coaches  again 
followed  its  flying  leader  in  steady  flight,  and  sailed  around 
the  wide  curves  with  the  grace  of  a  hawk  in  air. 

Duly,  they  delivered  the  pair  of  cooing  doves  who,  appar- 
ently, were  supposed  to  be  living  upon  showers  of  rice,  and 
in  due  time  the  judge  strode  away  in  majesty,  up  the  shaded 
street  of  a  suburban  puddle  in  which  he  was,  perhaps,  the 
biggest  toad.  Turning  at  the  curb,  from  daily  habit,  he 
waved  a  paternal  farewell  to  Billy,  much  as  one  might  say 
"  Your  greatest  work  is  done,  my  son.  Now  run  along  to 

[16] 


A      PEACEFUL      DAY'S      RUN 

your  supper."  And  Billy,  strong  in  the  habit  grown  of 
another  viewpoint,  waved  a  polite  adieu  and  turned  with 
merry  eyes  to  meet  Enderby's  slow  smile  as  he  fixed  for  the 
far-reaching  miles  ahead. 

Where  the  tracks  spanned  the  deep  and  rocky  bed  of  a 
clear  babbling  stream,  and  broad  smooth-clipped  lawns  sloped 
up  among  tall  firs  to  a  secluded  city  of  refuge  upon  a 
swelling  knoll  of  the  prairie,  they  came  to  a  halt  with  no 
ring  of  bell  or  sound  of  whistle.  There  the  madman,  with 
hands  encased,  and  unseeing  eyes,  stalked  with  his  watchful 
retinue  up  the  knoll  singing,  over  and  over  again,  a  plaintive 
refrain.  It  struck  a  quavering  chord  with  the  low  notes 
which  Billy  drew  from  the  bell  at  starting,  until  it  wavered 
away  with  the  man's  receding  figure  among  the  trees  and 
was  swallowed  up  in  the  thickening  exhaust  of  the  engine. 
The  open  book  of  the  day's  run  lay  again  before  Enderby, 
who  was  looking  steadfastly  ahead  upon  the  track.  And, 
far  and  wide  upon  the  great  steel  web  of  track  that  has 
reclaimed  the  wilderness  and  made  of  it  at  once  the  noblest 
workshop  and  playground  of  the  world,  a  host  of  other 
Enderbys  were  reading,  understandingly,  without  qualm  of 
fear  or  wide-eyed  haste,  other  familiar  pages  of  the  daily 
story  of  the  track ;  the  vivid,  common  story  of  a  common 
day,  although  from  pages  which  are  ever  changing  with  the 
moments, —  reading,  and  casting  surely  the  giant  shuttles 
which,  most  of  all,  are  weaving  the  mantle  of  destiny  for  the 
race  of  men. 

The  sleeping  country  roads  were  growing  more  marked  in 
the  slanting  rays  of  the  sun,  and  the  engine  crooned  a  deep, 
low  monotone  through  the  wooded  places,  as  she  fled  across 
the  long  level.  Through  the  busy,  teeming  hours  she  rocked, 

[17] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

and  steadied,  and  plunged  ahead,  climbing  rises  in  loud- 
voiced  triumph  among  rugged  oaks  and  again,  chanting  a  low 
requiem  over  the  straight  and  silent  places. 

Where  the  prairie  was  dotted  by  widely  grouped  cottage.4, 
in  the  distance,  the  train  again  stopped.  Some  new-formed 
Arcadia  welcomed  the  care-worn  immigrants.  They  turned 
their  tired  faces,  eager-eyed,  into  the  reddening  rays  of  the 
sinking  sun,  shouldering  their  crude  luggage  from  the 
baggage  car,  with  many  lowly  bows  and  hat-tippings,  and 
trailing  away  into  their  new  land  of  promise,  to  claim,  late, 
a  manhood  they  had  never  known. 

The  hands  of  the  big  illuminated  clock  in  the  station  were 
drawing  close  to  seven  of  the  evening,  and  the  piercing  rays 
of  the  big  torch,  high  upon  the  City  Hall  Tower,  were  flash- 
ing farewell  signals  after  the  departing  sun,  when  the  train 
came  hurrying  steadily  out  of  the  darkening  maze  of  the 
afterglow,  across  the  waving  fields,  and  thrust  itself  into 
the  narrow  throat  of  the  terminal  yards.  It  glided  into 
the  lighted  gloom  of  the  big  station  exactly  at  seven,  by  the 
hands  upon  the  glowing  dial  high  upon  the  wall  beyond  the 
ends  of  the  tracks.  A  final  vibrant  hiss  from  the  brake-valve 
spoke  sharply  to  the  engine  looming  large  toward  the  guard- 
post  which  stood  directly  in  its  path.  Slower  and  slower, 
the  menacing  engine  crept  nearer  the  obstruction  until,  in  the 
last  forward  turn  of  the  wheels,  Enderby  set  the  brake-valve 
handle  to  full  release,  and  the  train  was  still  and  free,  with- 
out a  demurring  lurch;  free,  as  it  had  been  through  the 
living  hours,  in  the  freedom  of  a  sure  control. 

All  was  quiet  for  a  moment,  except  the  regular  pulsing  of 
the  air-pump.  Then  the  station  renewed  its  murmur  of 
restrained  life,  so  like  the  murmur  of  a  shell  from  the  sea. 
There  came  a  group  of  men  who  took  the  golden  treasure 

[18] 


A      PEACEFUL      DAY'S      RUN 

from  its  car  and  away.  The  hurrying  throng  flowed  by, 
unnoting  and  unnoted.  The  day's  run  of  the  train  was 
finished. 

A  little  later,  a  placid-faced  woman  looked  up  in  the  fail- 
ing light,  from  among  the  flowers  in  an  old-fashioned  door- 
yard,  as  the  gate-latch  clicked  under  Enderby's  hand. 

"  You  are  sure  as  the  sun,  Mark,"  she  said.  "  Was  it  a 
pleasant  run  to-day  ?  " 

"  Like  canoeing  on  the  river  in  June,  mother,"  he  an- 
swered. "  Where  is  Ruth?  " 

"  Placing  supper  upon  the  table.  She  was  with  me  here 
until  she  saw  her  wonderful  father  coming." 

Her  cool,  firm  hand  slipped  into  the  strong  and  gentle  clasp 
of  Enderby  as  she  smiled  up  contentedly  into  his  eyes,  and 
yet,  a  shade  of  longing  sat  deeply  upon  her  face. 

"  Suppose  we  tie  up  those  nasturtiums  in  the  morning, 
mother,"  he  laughingly  suggested. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  that  when  you  came,"  she  said,  "  and, 
oh,  father,  I  have  been  thinking  of  the  mountains  to-day, 
our  Alta  Vista,  Villa  Rica  mountains !  Shall  we  ever  go 
back  to  them?  In  another  year,  when  Ruth's  schooling  is 
finished?  Could  we?" 

"  Why,  mother,  you  have  said  the  thing  I  wanted  to 
say !  "  he  replied,  as  his  arm  passed  gently  about  her.  "  We 
have  been  very  happy  here,  but  the  mountains  are  always 
calling.  Well,  we  shall  see.  Another  year,  maybe,  and  then 
we  might  be  able  to  arrange  it." 

Thus,  in  a  contentment  that  lacked  but  the  nearness  of  the 
mountains  for  these  mountain-bred  folks,  the  seal  was  set 
upon  a  day's  biography  of  a  modest  expert,  and  the  forecast 
of  others  of  his  virile  days  was  made. 

[19] 


CHAPTER  II 
AGAINST  THE  MOUNTAIN 

ALTA  VISTA,  far  south  and  high  in  the  Rockies,  most 
of  the  time  lies  smiling  guardedly  in  the  tempered 
sunshine  of  New  Mexico ;  and  for  the  rest  of  it,  she  has 
moods  —  which  is  one  of  the  joys  of  Alta  Vista. 

While  the  June  showers  fall  regularly  of  afternoons,  she 
arouses  sleepily  as  a  peaceful  babe ;  blue-eyed  of  the  sky, 
white-capped  of  the  clouds,  gurgling  with  the  voice  of  many 
quick-born  rills.  And  when  the  ready  sunlight  races  down 
again  from  the  mountains  and  across  the  wide  vistas,  the 
wayfarer  is  electrified  into  close  kinship  with  the  heart  of 
things,  with  the  heart  of  Alta  Vista,  and  he  thrills  with  a 
sense  of  fellowship  in  the  power  to  create.  But,  when  the 
equinox  shatters  the  peaks  with  lightning  and  the  valleys 
quake  with  thunder,  or  the  snows  come  rippling  across  the 
divide,  to  battle  with  alkali  dust  whirled  up  from  the  desert 
and  dashed  into  Big  Pass,  Alta  Vista  crouches  expectantly  at 
the  base  of  the  Rim  Rock  Cliff  and  waits.  News  will  come  of 
the  men  in  the  mountains,  and  there  is  gruff  greeting  for 
him  who  does  not  know  the  ways  of  the  high  country. 

Five  hundred  feet  more  above  the  virile  little  town  rises 
the  Rim  Rock  Cliff,  its  solemn  face  to  the  east,  worn  smooth 
by  the  wash  of  tides  of  long  ago,  or  glaciers'  rasping  touch, 
and  its  sparsely  wooded  top  seamed  with  coal,  a  stranger 
to  the  miner's  pick.  Gnarled  cedars  cluster  thickly  along  the 

[20] 


crevices,  and  lower  there  is  a  fringe  of  cottonwoods  that 
seems  to  overhang  the  town.  Sloping  sharply  from  this  base, 
Alta  Vista  stretches  sinuously  down  a  thousand  yards  to  the 
railroad  tracks  and  beyond  the  tracks  half  as  far  to  a  deep 
arroyo  which  divides  the  Mexican  quarter,  the  Old  Tewn, 
from  the  new.  Clinging  to  the  nearer  rim  of  this  deep  dry 
ditch  are  the  shops  and  roundhouses  of  the  first  mountain 
division,  and  near  by  are  the  little  red  station  and  despatch- 
er's  office,  where  "  He  "  and  his  aides  hear  the  wires  sing 
fair  or  sing  foul,  and  direct  the  battle  by  minutes.  Alta 
Vista  is  well  pleased  with  its  four  thousand  souls  and  grudg- 
ingly includes  Mexicans  and  half-breeds,  but  laughingly 
denies  that  burros  figure  in  the  corner  drug-store  revision  of 
the  census  which  easily  proves  that  Paradise's  rival  preten- 
sions as  a  county  seat  are  "  sure  foolish." 

Far  to  the  south  stretch  wave  upon  wave  and  foothill 
upon  foothill  of  gray-brown  earth,  past  Starvation  Peak, 
past  Villa  Rica,  and  farther  than  the  eye  can  reach  into 
the  clear  heights  of  the  Glorietas,  whose  brooding  purple 
depths  give  no  hint  of  the  struggles  of  Mexican  and  Span- 
iard, red  man  and  white,  Federal  and  Confederate,  whose 
blood  has  variously  dyed  the  thirsty  earth  upon  the  line  of 
the  old  trail.  At  the  farther  side  of  the  broad  valley,  six 
miles  northeast  from  the  Rim  Rock  Cliff,  rises  Neilson's 
mesa,  a  bold  rampart  of  earthen  reds  and  greens  fused  into 
cliffs  that  zigzag  away  to  right  and  left,  a  day's  journey 
for  a  laden  burro.  And  topping  that,  where  the  moon  is 
born  at  evening  behind  the  ragged  profile  of  the  Geyser 
Peak,  the  great  levels  stretch  away  into  a  little-known  wilder- 
ness of  dead  gray. 

But  none  of  these  things  justify  the  pretensions  of  Alta 
Vista.  Her  windrows  of  skeletons  lying  nakedly  on  the 

[21] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

earth  beyond  the  stock  pens,  where  the  utterly  starved,  the 
hopelessly  maimed,  the  exhausted  and  dead  are  sorted  from 
the  living  skeletons  that  are  shipped  through  from  the 
deeper  Southwest  each  spring  by  suffering  thousands,  show 
that  she  is  near  the  cruel  cattle  country ;  but  she  is  not  of  it. 
Neither  the  cliff  nor  the  skeleton-strewn  valley,  the  mesa, 
nor  the  far  reaches  to  the  Glorietas,  but  the  great  pass  in 
the  Rim  Rock  Range  made  Alta  Vista,  and  she  is  proud  of  her 
maker. 

In  a  wide  sweep  to  the  north  of  the  Geyser  Peak  the  Rim 
Rock  Range  rises  forbiddingly.  Seven  miles  of  winding 
through  the  pass,  rising  a  thousand  feet  and  curving  like  a 
maimed  serpent,  is  crowned  by  a  tunnel  of  half  a  mile  cut 
through  the  crest  into  Colorado.  Sixteen  miles  of  writhing 
and  turning  in  half -circles  and  steep-pitched  elliptics,  down 
sixteen  hundred  feet  to  the  wide  gate  of  the  canyon,  shows 
Sentinel  straddling  the  noisy  little  Geyser  Water  and  wait- 
ing, with  coal,  water,  sand  and  human  grit,  for  trouble ; 
conquering  it  at  catch-holds  when  it  comes.  There,  Rank- 
in's  Rest  calmly  backs  the  town  with  five  hundred  feet  of 
dull  yellow  cliff,  and  on  its  top  Pioneer  Rankin  and  his  mate 
sleep  grandly  beneath  a  lonely  finger  of  stone.  Across  the 
little  creek,  Vulcan  Peak  frowns  down  from  its  great  height 
and  faces  away  toward  the  Snowy  Range  and  the  Spanish 
Peaks,  far  to  the  right  of  which  lies  Crystal,  eighty-five 
miles  from  Sentinel  and  two  thousand  feet  lower,  on  the 
Arkansas.  All  of  these  point  to  the  pass,  and  the  pass 
made  Alta  Vista,  quietly  proud  ordinarily,  fiercely  so  some- 
times, and  yet  smiling  the  dominant  smile  of  the  frontier 
headquarters  of  the  mountain  division;  the  steely  smile  of 
men  who  can  go  long  hours  on  little  food  at  times,  with  faces 
stiff  from  want  of  sleep,  and  laugh  derisively,  or  curse  and 


AGAINST      THE      MOUNTAIN 

fight  the  mountains  until  they  let  freight  into  Alta  Vista 
and  pass  it  on  to  Villa  Rica,  to  the  Glorietas,  to  Balceta,  the 
Tehachapies,  and  the  western  sea. 

The  call  of  the  mountains  had  prevailed  and  the  Ender- 
bys,  as  well  as  Billy  Bane,  had  returned  to  Alta  Vista  to 
fight  the  mountain  in  its  savage  moods  and  to  bask  and  re- 
joice with  body  and  soul  in  its  more  frequent  sunny  uplift. 

In  Crystal,  on  a  November  morning  that  promised  fair, 
Billy,  wearing  the  proud  title  of  engineer,  and  fireman  Jim 
Plinney  blinked  sleepily  at  the  call-boy's  lantern  and  looked 
approvingly  through  the  open  door  at  a  red-hot  stove  in  the 
boarding-house  hall,  as  they  sat  up  in  bed  to  sign  the  call- 
book. 

"What  do  we  get,  Zeke?"  said  Bane  to  the  caller. 

"  First  Fifty-one,  at  four-thirty  this  morning." 

"Made  up?" 

"  Making  up ;  thirty  loads,  all  refrigerators,  track  four- 
teen." 

"  What  engine  ?  "  said  Plinney. 

"  Big  consolidation ;  the  700.  She  's  on  the  ashpit  now 
with  her  flues  a-leakinV 

"  H-e-e-11,"  Plinney  drawled  in  disgust,  and  lolled  back 
with  his  face  to  the  wall. 

"  How  late  was  Fifty-one  getting  in?  "  yawned  Bane. 

"  On  time." 

"  What  time  is  it  now,  Zekey?  " 

"  Three-forty-five.  Git  a  move  on  you.  I  can't  stay  here 
all  night  with  you  fellers." 

"  Snow?  "  drawled  Bane. 

"  Nope ;  fair.  Moon  gone  down ;  dark  now.  Hold  on 
there,  don't  you  fellers  go  to  sleep  on  me  again.  Come  on 
now !  The  Old  Man  like  to  skinned  me  last  time  you  was 

[23] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

here,  'cause  I  did  n't  git  the  figgers  to  cinch  you  on  when 
you  held  Second  Fifty-one  ten  minutes.  Put  'er  in  there  now, 
will  you  ?  " 

Bane  signed  for  both,  and  growled,  "  We  were  out  twenty 
hours  on  the  trip  before  we  overslept.  There  you  are, 
sonny,  now  vamose.  This  is  no  bird  cage." 

"  Well  I  only  want  wat  's  — " 

"  Vamose,  hotabre"  repeated  Plinney,  and  swung  a  threat- 
ening shoe  as  the  door  banged  shut  and  Zekey  went  patter- 
ing and  whistling  down  the  stairs  in  search  of  other  victims 
for  the  early  morning.  Then  they  laughed  a  tolerant  laugh, 
as  men  do  after  they  have  learned  to  bear  all  things ;  yawned 
and  were  wide  awake. 

By  4:10  a.  m.  they  had  breakfasted,  stumbled  through  the 
dark  yards  to  the  roundhouse,  gone  outside  to  the  engine, 
and  were  uniformed  in  their  comfortable  faded  blue  over- 
alls. Plinney  had  examined  the  leaking  flues  for  prospects 
of  a  hard  trip,  doctored  his  fire,  filled  the  signal-lamps, 
trimmed  and  lighted  the  headlight,  fed  water  to  the  boiler, 
shut  off  the  purring  injector,  and  stood  silently  in  the  ruddy 
gloom  of  the  engine  cab  with  his  back  to  the  warmth  of  the 
boiler-head;  while  Bane,  now  boldly  outlined  in  the  flare  of 
his  torch,  and  now  melting  into  the  shadowy  background, 
like  the  strong  figure  of  an  old  Rembrandt,  looking  keenly 
here  and  there  below,  oiling,  tightening,  loosening,  defam- 
ing in  a  subdued  and  satisfied  way  the  pooled  engine  and  all 
who  believe  in  pooling,  made  ready  for  the  start. 

As  he  climbed  into  the  gangway  and  blew  out  the  flame  of 
his  torch  a  brakeman  swung  up  after  him  with  a  crisp  call  of 
"Ready?"  For  answer,  Bane  nodded,  shoved  the  cylinder- 
cock  lever  to  open  position  with  his  foot,  tried  the  air  on 
the  driver-brakes,  and  opened  the  throttle  cautiously.  The 

[**] 


AGAINST      THE      MOUNTAIN 

engine  coughed  up  a  ragged  spurt  of  sooty  water  from  the 
stack,  hissed  spitefully  at  the  dark  coal  chutes  in  the  shad- 
ows, close  at  hand,  slipped  viciously  with  an  echoing  roar, 
steadied  down  and  moved  off  slowly  toward  the  yards. 

"  Sassy  this  morning,"  said  the  brakeman. 

"  Yes,  but  it 's  a  bluff,"  said  Plinney.     "  Look  at  her  leak." 

From  the  narrow  throat  at  the  end  of  the  big  yards,  she 
reversed  and  crept  backward  down  the  ladder  track  indicated 
by  a  long  diagonal  line  of  bright  green  lights,  shimmering 
close  to  the  ground  at  intervals  where  the  several  tracks  were 
intersected.  Here  and  there,  an  imperative  target  of  red 
showed  the  bullseye  of  a  switch  set  to  lead  her  onto  Number 
Fourteen  track,  where  a  cluster  of  white  lights  shifted  and 
twinkled  at  the  head  of  the  sullen-looking  line  of  refrig- 
erators. At  4:15,  she  settled  back  upon  the  head  end  of 
the  thirty  loads,  with  a  subdued  crash  of  the  couplings  that 
rippled  away  in  decreasing  rumblings  toward  the  distant 
caboose.  It  was  the  wordless  signal  for  one  of  the  routine 
scenes  of  activity  that  leap  from  seeming  unpreparedness  in 
a  railroad  yard,  and  subside  into  the  apparently  vacant 
darkness,  as  a  rocket  leaps  from  its  dull  casing,  sweeps 
through  its  fiery  arc,  subsides,  and  is  gone.  It  is  done,  com- 
plete, dismiss  it.  What  does  the  future  hold? 

Something  more  than  the  casting  off  of  a  ship's  lines  from 
the  wharf,  something  less  than  the  solemnity  of  the  passing 
of  a  soul  from  earth,  is  in  these  early  morning  scenes  in  a 
railroad  yard  of  a  single-track  line  through  the  mountains 
of  the  high  country.  It  puts  the  yearning,  far-away  look 
in  the  eyes  of  men  who  converse  in  monosyllables  while  they 
think  of  many  secrets  of  the  hill  country;  who  laugh  jerk- 
ily —  if  they  laugh  —  as  though  the  mystery  of  the  moun- 
tains might  sweep  down  and  exact  tribute  of  life  for  the 

[25] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

infraction  of  the  great  rule  of  silence.  The  mystery  that  is 
written  in  the  faces  even  of  the  wild  things  that  live  in  the 
Land  of  Altitude,  closes  quickly  all  breaches  of  the  silence  that 
holds  the  barrens. 

So,  deft  activity  held  sway  for  a  time.  Before  the  echoes 
had  run  out  of  the  frozen  yards,  the  air-hose  had  been 
snapped  together,  the  air  cut  in,  and  the  air-pump  chugged 
hurriedly  to  replace  what  had  been  suddenly  drawn  from  its 
store.  A  torch  rose,  wavered,  and  fell  near  the  engine,  and 
a  resonant  voice  from  the  darkness  said,  "  Set  'em."  Bane, 
leaning  from  the  window  and  looking  toward  the  train, 
reached  into  the  cab  without  turning,  and  the  brakes  set  for 
test  in  response  to  the  rasping  discharge  of  the  brake-valve. 

On  each  side  of  the  train  a  torch  flared  its  way,  searching 
slowly  to  the  rear,  and  the  inspectors  signalled  for  release. 
Bane's  hand  moved  silently  a  few  inches  in  the  dark  cab. 
Each  triple  valve  along  the  train  whistled  its  keen  expir- 
ing sigh  and  the  iron  shoes  released  their  grip  of  the  wheels. 
The  air-pump  chuckled  wildly  again  into  the  night,  a  torch 
far  to  the  rear  flared  a  peremptory  "  All  right,"  and  van- 
ished. Bane  drew  in  his  head  to  respond  to  conductor 
Waverly's  greeting  as  he  climbed  up  from  the  other  side  with 
orders. 

"Hello,  Bill!" 

"  Hello,  Wavy  !     What  you  got  ?  " 

"  Rights  to  Sentinel  against  first  and  second  Fifty-two 
and  Number  Two  will  wait  at  Sinker's  until  5  :55  a.  m.  and 
at  Badger  until  6:15  a.  m.  Meet  Extra  905  at  the  Dry 
Hole.  Sign  and  let's  go.  Make  Sinker's,  can't  you?  We 
don't  want  to  stay  at  Badger  till  6:15." 

"  Try  it ;  but  it 's  close  time  and  she  's  leaking,"  said  Bane, 
and  signed,  with  Plinney  reading  over  his  shoulder  the  de- 

[26] 


AGAINST      THE      MOUNTAIN 

tails  of  the  order  which  had  been  read  in  full  by  Bane  while 
Waverly  skilfully  voiced  the  points  that  governed  for  the 
next  few  hours'  work.  Waverly  dropped  from  the  gangway 
remarking  as  a  polite  afterthought,  "  How  are  you,  Jim?  " 
and  Plinney  replied,  "  How  are  you,  Wave  ?  "  as  he  shot  a 
shovelful  of  coal  into  the  fire-box  and  landed  it  with  pre- 
cision upon  a  gray  spot  in  the  fire. 

The  time  for  talk  was  past.  There  came  two  short  low 
blasts  from  the  whistle  and  a  quick  swing  of  a  clean  white 
light  from  the  caboose.  The  engine  was  settling  heavily  to 
her  work  and  they  were  off  for  the  pass  of  the  Rim  Rock 
and  for  home  in  Alta  Vista.  At  regular  intervals,  as  they 
slowly  climbed  the  first  wave  of  the  foothills,  a  pulsing 
shaft  of  ruddy  light  shot  backward  and  up  into  the  rolling 
trail  of  vapor  and  smoke,  until  it  faded  and  was  swallowed 
up  in  the  distance  with  the  sound  of  the  laboring  engine. 
The  darkness  closed  in  behind  the  triangle  of  red  tail  lights 
as  they  slowly  sank  below  the  conquered  rise,  and  silence 
fell  upon  the  motionless  yards.  They  were  gone,  said  the 
train-sheet ;  and  the  wires  repeated,  variously,  "  Gone."  A 
distinct  individuality,  First  Fifty-one,  gone  into  the  arid 
waste,  with  the  finality  of  death,  yet  throbbing  with  hope  and 
the  hazard  of  life. 

Something  of  this  was  passing  in  the  mind  of  Bane  as  he 
settled  comfortably  in  the  cab,  adjusted  the  levers  with  deft 
assurance  as  the  work  varied,  and  mentally  pictured  the 
familiar  miles  ahead ;  always  the  same,  yet  always  new  in  their 
setting  at  the  meeting-points  and  along  the  way.  Who 
made  it  on  time?  Would  Jim  Dodson  be  at  Sinker's  with 
Number  Two,  or  would  he  hang  up  at  Antlers?  Extra  905 
would  make  the  Dry  Hole  for  water.  It  was  a  stock  run 
bringing  starved  cattle  up  out  of  the  snow  in  the  southwest. 

[27] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

Was  it  a  safe  play  to  try  for  Sinker's?  Could  tell  better  at 
Badger.  Waverly  said  the  despatcher  reported  snow  on 
the  south  side  of  the  pass.  None  over  here  yet.  Daylight 
showing  on  the  Spanish  Peaks.  Beginning  to  look  like  the 
pink  and  white  fire  opal  the  Mexican  sold  to  Waverly  at 
Sentinel  yesterday. 

A  startled  coyote  leaped  across  the  track  before  the  en- 
gine, now  rolling  rapidly  down  into  the  long  sag  among  the 
shadowy  foothills,  and  Bane  regarded  him  with  mingled 
contempt,  amusement,  and  respect,  as  he  loped  with  angling 
head  and  licking  tongue,  into  the  pervading  gray  of  the 
morning.  The  wolf's  sardonic  grin  of  wisdom  held  an  appeal 
to  hardihood.  A  creature  that  lives  independently  in  the  bar- 
rens is  not  to  be  wholly  despised  by  those  who  know. 

Presently  the  rhythmic  beat  of  the  wheels  and  the  exhaust 
was  muffled  in  the  hollow  roar  of  the  first  bridge  over  a 
dry  arroyo,  and  the  warm  pungent  smells  of  the  cab  were 
fanned  away  upon  a  wide-sweeping  curve  to  the  left,  as  the 
breath  of  a  rising  wind  came  out  of  the  northwest.  "  Snow 
over  there,"  thought  Bane,  "  but  it 's  a  far  call  on  a  clear 
morning." 

At  Sinker's  the  dark  bulk  of  Number  Two,  overland  ex- 
press, loomed  standing  upon  the  crest  of  the  grade,  with 
electric  headlight  still  sending  its  searchlight  rays  into  the 
lower  shadows,  although  the  day  was  breaking.  Number 
Two  had  been  doing  badly  and  the  700  was  doing  well.  In 
spite  of  leaking  flues  which  threatened  to  drown  the  fire, 
they  had  left  Badger  on  faith,  after  the  Limited  from  the 
east  had  overtaken  and  passed  them  in  a  close  chase,  and 
were  exultant  at  their  approach  to  this  farther  meeting- 
point. 

Pliftney  was  wearing  his  cap  at  a  jaunty  angle  and 

[28] 


AGAINST      THE      MOUNTAIN 

chanting  brokenly,  "  She  was  born  —  in  Old  Kentucky  — 
where  the  meadows  —  bloom  —  so  fair,"  with  abrupt  inter- 
ludes for  the  delivery  of  coal  to  the  fire.  The  prime  mo- 
ment of  exultation  was  at  hand,  when  they  would  draw 
heavily  past  the  admiring  crew  and  passengers  of  Number 
Two,  with  an  airy  wave  of  the  hand.  They  had  figured 
time  closely  upon  what  they  knew  of  every  ridge  and  sag; 
had  come  on  in  the  face  of  Number  Two,  and  "  made  it  with 
thirty  freezers,"  instead  of  lying  tamely  at  Badger  for  a 
wasted  hour  and  getting  hammered  by  the  despatcher  for 
staying  there.  The  experience  of  years  and  the  courage 
of  clear  reasoning  had  gone  into  the  movement,  with  few 
words  spoken,  but  nerves  were  tense  with  the  hazard.  They 
had  about  won,  and  caused  no  delay.  They  were  now  pull- 
ing slowly  around  the  base  of  the  final  climb  into  Sinker's, 
with  five  minutes  to  spare  by  working  hard.  A  slip  of  the 
wheels  would  stall  them  and  turn  the  day's  distinction  into 
disgrace;  but  the  strain  was  almost  over  and  they  would  not 
delay  Number  Two. 

"  They  're  there,"  announced  Plinney,  after  a  quick 
glance  ahead,  before  the  curve  shut  out  the  view  of  Sink- 
er's crest,  "  and  the  switch  is  open  for  us."  It  was  his  first 
remark  since  his  brief  greeting  to  Waverly  at  Crystal. 
"  They  're  there,"  glancing  at  his  watch,  "  and  we  '11  just 
about  make  it.'* 

A  little  puff  of  dust  shot  out  from  under  the  middle  of  the 
train.  The  brakes  crashed  down  upon  the  wheels,  and  glanc- 
ing at  the  air-gauge  they  saw  the  black  hand  drop  back  to 
zero,  showing  an  empty  train  line. 

"  Broke  in  two,"  said  Bane,  closing  the  throttle  as  the 
engine  stopped  almost  within  the  turn  of  a  wheel.  Plinney 
straightened  his  cap  hastily  and  said  nothing,  but  disgust 

[29] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

was  written  in  his  blackened  face.  They  had  laid  out  Num- 
ber Two,  crime  of  crimes,  when  Number  Two  was  late. 

It  was  a  draw-bar  pulled  out,  and  fifty  minutes  later  the 
crippled  car  had  been  set  to  the  rear  and  chained  fast,  after 
the  train  had  been  pulled  into  the  siding  in  halves,  Number 
Two  had  pulled  out  for  the  east,  and  the  engine  crews  had 
waved  one  another  a  solemn  greeting  as  they  passed,  instead 
of  the  usual  lofty  "  high-ball "  signal  of  the  moment  of 
passing,  when  all  is  well  and  each  crew  is  proud  of  its  accom- 
plishment. The  despatcher  had  been  saying  things  over 
the  wire  during  the  past  hour  that  were  not  pleasant  for 
Number  Two's  crew  to  hear,  and  he  had  burned  spots  in  the 
feelings  of  Bane  and  Waverly  for  rough  handling,  of  which 
they  were  innocent  in  their  brave  effort  to  reach  Sinker's. 

"  Was  she  born  in  Old  Kentucky,  Jim? "  mildly  asked 
Bane. 

"  Nope.  Not  to-day,"  replied  Plinney,  with  a  dismal 
shake  of  the  head. 

They  pulled  out  soberly  for  Sentinel,  after  taking  coal 
and  water  at  Sinker's,  and,  ten  miles  out,  a  fierce  snowstorm 
swept  down  from  the  distant  mountain  and  struck  them. 
The  long  stop  at  Sinker's  added  the  last  touch  to  the  leak- 
ing flues,  and  Plinney  fought  desperately  with  his  fire,  to 
come  into  Sentinel  some  hours  later,  leaning  weakly  against 
the  tank,  after  heaving  twelve  tons  of  coal  on  the  run,  thus 
far. 

They  lunched  and  rested  while  the  fire  was  being  cleaned, 
coal,  water,  and  sand  taken,  the  crippled  car  repaired  and 
switched  in,  and  a  helper  engine  added  at  front  and  rear, 
for  the  climb  through  the  Rim  Rock  Pass.  But  first  and 
second  Fifty-two  were  in  trouble  on  the  mountain.  A 
snow-drift  and  a  broken  rail  held  them,  blocking  the  pass. 

[30] 


AGAINST      THE      MOUNTAIN 

An  hour  passed  and  then  another,  and  it  was  evening  with 
the  storm  battling  around  the  top  of  Vulcan  Peak,  and 
sweeping  in  roaring  gusts  of  snow  and  sleet  into  the  valley, 
only  to  rebound  from  the  yellow  face  of  Rankin's  Rest  and 
blot  out  the  narrow  defile  in  which  they  lay  waiting  for 
the  Fifty-twos. 

"  A  fool  for  luck,  and  a  poor  man  for  babies ! "  vaguely 
quoted  Plinney,  as  he  pulled  his  head  in  from  beneath  the 
big  canvas  storm  curtain  at  the  rear  of  the  cab,  and  banged 
the  fire-door  open  and  shut  for  the  twentieth  time  in  the  long 
wait. 

"  What 's  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?  "  snapped  Bane,  as  he 
turned  sharply  from  his  steady  stare  at  the  sleet-covered 
glass  in  the  forward  door.  "Eh?  What's  babies  got  to 
do  with  breaking  in  two  at  Sinker's,  just  when  we  were 
there  to  clear  Two,  after  the  trip  of  our  lives ;  and  then 
freezing  here  for  two  hours  on  account  of  it?  We'd  have 
been  over  the  pass  now,  only  for  that  break  at  Sinker's." 

It  was  getting  on  the  nerves,  this  long  siege  of  the  moun- 
tain, and  Plinney  knew  the  signs.  But  it  was  unusually 
sharp  for  Bane.  He  had  seen  him  bear  more  and  say  less, 
many  a  time. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Plinney,  and  turned  the  talk  to  Dod- 
son's  hard-luck  run  with  Number  Two,  as  he  gave  Bane  a 
searching  look  that  had  in  it  the  kindness  born  of  under- 
standing. Bane  had  no  babies,  nor  was  he  by  any  chance  a 
fool.  He  was  tired,  and  then  —  perhaps  - —  well,  no  matter, 
let  him  alone  until  the  trip  was  done.  Bane  's  all  right. 

"  Fool,"  ran  Bane's  over-active  thoughts.  No,  he  had  not 
been  a  fool  exactly.  He  had  been  foolish,  even  foolhardy  at 
times.  He  had  seen  the  frontier  grow  more  and  more  toler- 
able. It  was  some  rough  once.  Five  years  he  had  fired  on 

[31] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

the  mountain  division,  before  going  down  to  the  plains  with 
Enderby,  and  a  year  ago  he  had  been  promoted  to  running. 
He  smiled.  It  was  good  to  come  back  to  Nora  an  engineer. 
Then,  Nora  and  he  were  married.  That  was  worth  all  of 
the  hard  five  years.  Nora,  no  doubt,  was  now  cuddled  before 
the  fire  in  Alta  Vista,  listening  to  the  shrieking  of  the  storm  as 
it  was  hurled  back  from  the  Rim  Rock  Cliff.  That  was 
as  snug  a  cottage  as  there  was  under  the  cliff.  The  de- 
spatcher's  bulletin  at  Sentinel  said  the  storm  was  roughest 
over  on  the  Alta  Vista  side.  A  poor  man.  Yes,  he  was  still 
a  poor  man  but  — 

"  They  're  here !  "  announced  Plinney.  "  Now  we  '11 
hoist  ours  up  for  Alta  Vista,  and  let  'em  roll  down  on  the 
other  side.  This  is  where  I  shine  for  five  tons  more ! " 

Two  ghostly  lines  of  storm-whipped  freight  came  curling 
down  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  pass  in  rapid  succession, 
glided  by  in  the  storm,  and  halted  for  overhauling.  The 
way  to  the  mountain  was  clear. 

"  Rights  to  Alta  Vista,"  said  a  muffled,  snowy  figure  that 
came  under  the  curtain.  "  Meet  two  Fifty-fours  at  Un- 
known Cross.  Nothing  else  on  but  the  work  train.  Sign, 
and  go  home,"  and  Waverly,  unruffled,  wet,  tired,  but  clear^ 
headed,  bustled  to  the  rear,  remarking  as  he  dropped  off, 
"  High-ball !  Let  her  go !  "  and  waving  the  signal  to  the 
helper  engine  ahead.  Twice,  the  leading  engine  called  to  the 
engine  far  at  the  rear,  faintly  the  answer  came  through 
the  roaring  snow-blast,  and  fainter  still,  the  echoes  from 
Rankin's  Rest.  Together,  the  leading  engines  slipped  use- 
lessly for  a  moment  and  belched  noisily.  From  the  rear, 
came  the  hurrying  sputter  of  the  small-wheeled,  powerful 
pusher  and  the  leading  engines  took  fresh  hold.  The  grand 

[32] 


AGAINST      THE      MOUNTAIN 

assault  of  the  mountain  stronghold,  years  old  in  the  daily 
telling,  yet  ever  new,  ever  untold,  was  begun. 

They  moved  swiftly  out  over  the  short  creek  level,  swung 
sharply  to  the  left,  running  along  the  outguard  of  Vulcan 
Peak,  gaining  rapidly  in  the  run  for  the  hill,  while  a  deep- 
voiced  roar  from  the  laboring  engines  sounded  above  the 
fury  of  the  storm,  and  columns  of  smoke-shrouded  sparks 
shot  fitfully  from  the  smoke-stacks;  around  the  curve  and 
along  the  veiled  Geyser  Water,  under  the  bridge  spanning 
the  gulch,  into  the  mouth  of  the  gorge,  and  they  were  lost  in 
the  night  and  the  storm,  steadily  and  doggedly  dragged 
down  from  their  wild  flight,  to  the  plodding,  hill-conquering 
gait  of  the  slow  and  powerful. 

Bane  glanced  at  the  fire-light  playing  alternately  across 
the  blackened  face  and  broad  back  of  Plinney,  as  he  pivoted 
upon  the  engine  deck,  "  shining  "  in  the  delivery  of  his  five 
tons  of  coal,  apparently  as  fresh  now  as  when  he  left  Crystal 
in  the  morning.  But  Bane  knew  better.  He  had  been 
through  it  too  often  to  be  deceived  by  Plinney's  cheerful 
endurance.  He  wished  he  had  not  been  so  tart  with  him  at 
Sentinel.  Plinney  did  not  know.  How  could  he?  Babies? 
Nora  was  a  brave  little  soul,  but  the  high  country  is  a  hard 
place  for  women.  It  sets  men  on  edge  sometimes,  too. 
Only  yesterday  Bonner  had  sat  down  in  the  roundhouse  after 
making  the  best  run  ever  credited  to  Number  One  and,  for 
no  apparent  reason,  wept  like  a  child. 

It  seemed  as  though  he  had  hold  of  hills,  the  way  the 
train  pulled.  Maybe  Hooligan,  on  the  head  engine,  was 
shirking  again.  Bane  would  just  blow  him  a  signal  to  pull 
up.  He  did,  and  Hooligan  put  his  head  out  of  the  cab 
window  into  the  external  uproar  long  enough  to  tell  Bane  by 
3  [33] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

pantomime  where  he  should  go  to,  and  disappeared  shaking 
his  head,  as  Bane  drew  laughingly  in  and  slid  the  sash 
against  the  storm. 

Nora  wanted  to  go  down  off  of  the  mountain  before  — 
Without  warning,  a  long  and  jagged  belt  of  lightning  split 
the  darkness  high  to  the  left,  and  writhed  blindingly  above 
the  top  of  Vulcan  Peak.  For  a  moment,  the  peak  stood 
blue-black  and  naked,  glaring  down  upon  them  in  a  light 
like  the  subtle  gleam  of  steel  in  a  cavern.  Then  the  black- 
ness closed  with  a  stunning  crash  of  thunder  that  boomed 
from  mountain  to  mountain  and  down  through  the  notch 
of  the  pass,  in  reverberations  that  shook  the  earth  and 
drowned  the  roar  of  the  straining  engines  in  an  awful  farewell 
of  the  autumn  storms  and  a  salute  to  the  advance  of  winter. 
Bane  and  Plinney  exchanged  a  look  of  understanding. 
Plinney  continued  his  firing  and  Bane  resumed  his  thoughts ; 
no  comment  needed.  A  warm  air  current  from  the  south- 
west was  meeting  the  snowstorm.  There  would  be  dust,  rain- 
mixed,  on  the  other  side  of  the  pass. 

There  was  Danforth,  whistling  from  the  rear  for  them 
to  release  brakes.  Well,  Hooligan  ahead  was  carrying  the 
air.  It  was  a  hard  drag.  If  they  slipped  now  or  broke  in 
two !  If  all  went  well,  Nora  would  go  east  in  time  —  in  the 
spring,  and  she  would  visit  her  mother.  He  would  bring 
her  back  with  the  —  boy?  He  hoped  so.  Could  not  blame 
the  girl  for  worrying;  she  was  a  child  with  a  woman's 
anxiety.  She  would  fret  to-night.  This  rare  atmosphere 
was  bad  in  some  ways;  but  what's  the  use  fretting?  It 
would  all  come  right  with  her. 

And  so  the  minutes  of  straining  and  echoing  struggle 
against  the  wild  pass  grew  into  an  hour,  and  the  hour  into 
another.  The  deep  gorges  echoed  hollowly  with  the  battle 

[34] 


AGAINST      THE       MOUNTAIN 

and  the  high  bridges  sounded  their  deeper  notes  of  endur- 
ance to  the  frowning  rocks,  until  the  leading  engines  crawled 
slowly  into  the  tunnel  at  the  crest  of  the  mountain,  crossed 
the  apex  of  the  grade,  and  crept  through  to  a  halt  in  the 
deep  open  cut  at  the  south  end,  where  the  helper  engines 
were  cut  off.  Plinney  had  dropped  his  shovel  with  a  weary 
sigh  and  climbed  upon  the  seat-box. 

"  There !  "  said  he,  "  we  brought  them  up.  Let  the  brake- 
man  take  them  down." 

"  Good  enough,  Jim,"  said  Bane,  smiling,  "  but  I  '11  have 
to  take  them  down.  We  may  need  a  pick-handle  or  two 
twisted  into  the  brake-wheels  to-night.  Tired?  " 

"  To  a  finish,"  said  Plinney,  and  he  looked  it. 

Lights  were  flitting  about  the  lonely  hill  station  outside, 
and  gruff  voices  rose  for  a  moment  now  and  then,  to  be 
quickly  stifled  in  the  swirling  blasts. 

"  Raised  hell  with  Alta  Vista,"  said  a  passing  voice,  and 
Bane  shot  the  sliding  sash  of  his  cab  window  back  hastily. 

"Hey!     What's  that  about  Alta  Vista?" 

"  Snow-cloud  whipped  down  off  of  Neilson's  mesa  about 
six  to-night,  and  met  a  dust-cloud  from  the  southwest,  in 
Alta  Vista.  Ripped  things  up  some.  Turned  to  rain,  with 
mud  a-blowin',  down  there.  Nigh  about  cleaned  out  the 
Old  Town,  and  laid  out  some  shacks  on  Main  Street.  Phee- 
ly's  undertakin'  shop  is  spread  all  over  the  street,  and  there 
was  coffins  sailin'  'round  like  butterflies,  they  say.  Where  's 
your  shack,  Bill?  You're  up  agin  the  cliff,  ain't  you?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Bane,  turning  gray  under  his  grime.  "  Did 
you  hear  anything?  " 

"  Nope.  Guess  your  folks  is  all  right,  or  he  'd  'a  said 
something.  Wires  are  down  now  between  here  and  the 
Cross —  All  right  there,  Bill!  High-ball!  The  lower 

[35] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

switch  is  set  and  Hooligan  's  in  to  clear.  Let  her  go,  if 
you  're  ready.  Fifty-four 's  layin'  at  the  Cross  for  you. 
Reported  in  just  before  the  wire  went  down." 

Bane  got  the  signal  from  the  rear,  and  the  700  moved 
hesitatingly  down  the  first  short  grade  into  the  seven  miles  of 
steep  and  crooked  track,  with  only  an  occasional  sag  or 
flat,  miles  of  it,  continuously,  steep  enough  for  a  coaster. 
Fifteen  hundred  tons  rolling  upon  smoothly  oiled  journals 
down  the  headlong  flights,  and  it  was  his  to  control  or  ruin ; 
a  train  worth  more  money  than  he  ever  saw,  intrusted  to  his 
care,  and  with  it  his  life  and  that  of  the  others.  The  thought 
always  came  as  he  headed  into  the  first  curve  of  the  descent. 

It  looked  very  steep  through  the  rifts  of  the  storm,  and 
the  headlight  showed  little  but  swirling  sleet.  But  one  over- 
mastering thought  held  him  as  his  hands  moved  automatically. 
—  Nora  afraid  and  alone ! 

When  the  engine  struck  the  first  curve  at  more  than  the 
ordinary  speed,  Plinney  glanced  across  questioningly  at 
Bane  and  his  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  upon  the  air-gauge. 
It  showed  a  little  low  for  safety,  but  he  said  nothing. 
Engine  etiquette  forbade  it ;  also,  it  was  too  late  after  the 
start  was  made.  Events  follow  rapidly  in  seconds  on  the 
mountain  grades.  The  strain  of  the  curve  would  retard 
them  while  Bane  recharged  the  brakes.  Bane  glanced  at 
the  gauge,  leaned  forward  and  stared  at  it  in  the  increasing 
sway  of  the  engine,  made  a  hasty  release  and  re-application, 
and  thereby  made  a  fatal  mistake.  The  speed  now  increased 
with  a  lurch  that  blanched  Bane's  face  and  sent  the  blood 
thickly  to  his  heart.  The  brakes  had  not  caught  fully,  and 
unless  he  caught  them  soon,  the  wheels  would  skid  upon  the 
sleety  rails  when  he  did  get  them  set.  Again  he  quickly 

[36] 


AGAINST      THE      MOUNTAIN 

recharged  and  set  them,  but  the  pressure  was  too  low  and 
the  grip  only  temporary.  He  knew  it  was  time  to  whistle 
for  hand-brakes,  but  the  shame  of  it  held  him  paralyzed 
until  it  was  too  late;  then  he  whistled  one  long  shrieking 
blast  that  told  his  disgrace  to  the  crew  already  alarmed  and 
sullenly  swinging  slow-up  signals  from  the  caboose.  They 
sprang  to  the  brakes  upon  the  glazed  car  tops,  crawled  a 
length  or  two  upon  the  careening  upper  decks,  and  lay  there 
swearing  and  clinging  to  the  foot-boards  doggedly.  No 
man  could  walk  those  crazy  decks  in  such  a  storm.  Better 
to  risk  it  there  than  to  leap  to  the  jagged  depths  below.  If 
Bane  could  not  stop  them,  they  were  lost.  At  the  Un- 
known Cross  they  might  jump,  but  it  was  a  ragged  chance. 
Plinney's  face  had  grown  gray  as  that  of  Bane.  Without 
a  word,  he  crossed  with  a  leap  to  Bane's  side  and  together 
they  reached  for  the  reverse  lever  and  pulled  it  up  from  its 
chattering  hold  in  the  quadrant,  until  it  stood  slightly  re- 
versed. If  she  could  hold  the  rails  on  sand  without  slip- 
ping, her  great  weight  and  power  would  hold  them  back  to 
the  one  chance  of  rounding  the  lower  curves.  The  familiar 
landmarks  shot  by  in  dizzy,  shadowy  panorama;  the  Blasted 
Pine,  close  to  the  track,  the  Saw-Tooth  Notch,  which  they 
knew  by  its  roar  of  sound,  the  Lizard  Rock  that  passed 
close  to  the  level  of  the  windows,  the  first  high  bridge. 
Quickly  and  cautiously,  Bane  had  opened  the  throttle  and 
steam  caught  the  shooting  pistons  and  opposed  their  lightning 
movements.  Stronger  and  stronger  came  the  resistance  and 
the  engine  hunched  back  upon  the  crowding  train.  The 
rocking  flight  had  met  a  check  when,  heading  into  the  long 
straight  steep  below  the  Lizard  Rock,  the  wheels  of  the 
engine  slipped  and  spun  wildly  backward.  Her  grip  of  the 

[37] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

rails  was  lost,  and  in  trying  to  regain  it,  a  cylinder-head 
blew  out  with  a  roar  like  that  of  a  ten-inch  gun,  above  the 
noise  of  the  storm. 

"  That  settles  it !  "  cried  Plinney,  his  hand  still  upon  Bane's 
shoulder.  "  I  'm  off  at  Unknown  Cross,  when  we  strike  the 
flat !  Better  come,  Bill !  " 

"  Stay  on ! "  shouted  Bane,  without  looking  back,  as  he 
tried  for  a  final  hold  of  the  brakes.  The  rhythmic  patter 
of  the  wheels  upon  the  rail  joints  increased  to  a  maddening 
tattoo,  broken  by  the  intermittent  roar  of  steam  from  the 
open  cylinder,  and  the  despairing  shriek  of  the  whistle  sound- 
ing the  long  runaway  call.  Lurch  of  the  train,  from  the 
rear,  followed  lurch  of  the  engine,  from  side  to  side,  so 
quickly  that  fear  was  half  forgotten  in  the  effort  of  cling- 
ing to  the  sides  of  the  cab.  Wildly,  she  lunged  at  the  hip 
of  the  mountain,  above  Unknown  Cross,  and  was  flung  back 
upon  the  high  rim  of  the  curve  along  the  gulch.  For  a 
second,  she  hung,  racing  and  toppling  over  the  depths  of 
jagged  rock  and  storm-tossed  cedars,  six  hundred  feet  be- 
low, then  careened  around  the  point  like  a  drunken  masto- 
don and,  shrieking  again  the  lonely  cry  of  distress,  plunged 
down  toward  the  Cross.  There,  a  mile  ahead  in  a  drop  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  feet,  the  signal-light  showed  white, 
and  free  from  fear  of  collision.  Bane  hoped  to  make  a  last 
successful  application  of  the  brakes  while  running  across  the 
mile  of  flats  halfway  down  the  mountain,  before  plunging 
over  into  the  final  crooked  descent  into  Alta  Vista. 

If  he  failed!  He  thought  of  the  two  lonely  graves  in  a 
cove  of  rock  by  the  side  of  the  track  where,  at  this  passing 
point,  stood  the  rough  timber  cross  marked  by  crude  carv- 
ing, "  To  the  Unknown  Dead,"  from  which  the  telegraph 
office  took  its  name. 

[38] 


AGAINST      THE       MOUNTAIN 

"  Clear  for  first  Fifty-one,  runaway  coming  —  they  are 
gone,"  wired  the  operator  at  Unknown  Cross,  to  the  de- 
spatcher  at  Alta  Vista. 

The  yard  engines  scuttled  into  sidings,  and  the  switches 
were  quickly  set  for  the  main  line,  to  run  the  luckless  700 
through  the  blinding  storm  of  muddy  rain,  where  snow  from 
the  north  and  dust  from  the  desert  were  battling,  and  Alta 
Vista  crouched  and  waited. 

Not  a  detail  in  the  wild  run  had  escaped  Plinney,  and 
when  they  shot  into  the  flats  and  half  across  them  without 
much  slackening,  he  clutched  his  way  to  the  gangway  back  of 
Bane,  shouted  "  Good-bye,  Bill !  "  and  leaned  far  out  into 
the  riot  of  storm  for  the  leap.  Instantly,  he  crashed  back 
upon  the  engine  deck,  as  the  storm-bent,  leaning  Cross 
flashed  by.  He  heaved  one  great  breath  and  rolled  up 
against  the  fire-door  at  the  next  lurch  of  the  engine.  Bane 
leaped  from  his  box  and  lost  a  chance  of  catching  a  grip  of 
the  wheels.  He  lifted  him  quickly,  reeled  with  him  to  the 
opposite  foot-board,  and  laying  him  hastily  down  leaped  back 
to  his  own  place  at  the  throttle  and  the  brake.  But  those 
few  seconds  were  lost,  and  disgrace,  discharge,  probably 
death  was  the  price  of  them.  What  did  it  matter,  now,  if  he 
died?  Nora!  Their  boy!  That  set  his  jaw  again  like 
steel. 

Over  the  lip  of  the  steep  they  shot  and  he  sat  there  like 
a  man  dreaming  over  and  over  the  same  hateful  nightmare; 
but  doing  automatically  the  things  which  ordinarily  would 
have  brought  them  home  with  honor.  The  riot  of  sounds 
beat  in  upon  his  numbed  senses  while  the  train  swept  drum- 
ming over  bridges,  reeling  along  sheer  lips  of  death,  rock- 
ing unsteadily  back  to  the  tangents,  around  the  last  curve, 
and  sped  into  view  of  the  yard  lights,  shrieking  into  the 

[39] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

open  mouth  of  the  valley  like  the  rampant  spirit   of  the 
storm. 

They  would  live;  the  curves  were  passed,  and  Bane  rose  to 
a  final  effort  which  brought  them  to  a  stop  halfway  across 
the  long  sag  of  the  yards. 

He  crossed  the  cab  and  looked  closely  at  Plinney.  Then 
the  shame  of  it  all  broke  upon  him  fully,  shrivelled  his  brave 
heart  and  seared  into  the  very  soul  of  him.  From  habit  he 
began  wiping  his  hands  with  exacting  care  upon  a  tuft  of 
cotton  waste  and  stood,  meanwhile,  vacantly  staring  at  Plin- 
ney huddled  down  beside  his  seat-box,  where  a  crimson  pool 
had  formed  darkly  upon  the  board. 

Mark  Enderby,  up  from  his  home  in  Villa  Rica  and  lying 
over  at  Alta  Vista  on  his  regular  run,  always  with  an  ear 
for  news  of  his  former  apprentice,  had  been  among  the  first 
to  hear  of  Billy's  disaster.  Even  while  the  ungoverned  train 
was  raging  down  through  the  pass,  he  had  hurriedly  sought 
out  veteran  Doc.  Maxon  and  led  him  striding  down  to  the 
despatcher's  office  with  his  compact  and  heavy  surgical  case 
swinging  from  his  hand. 

Now,  they  came  in  together  under  the  storm  curtain  of 
the  engine  cab  and  stood  looking  with  a  great  relief,  for  a 
moment,  upon  Billy's  upstanding  figure  in  the  half  dark- 
ness of  the  cab. 

"How  did  you  lose  them,  Billy?"  asked  Enderby  very 
quietly,  as  he  laid  a  kindly  touch  upon  the  younger  man's 
arm. 

"  I  never  had  hold  of  them  right  after  I  left  the  top  of 
the  mountain.  Nora  —  The  storm  —  You  know,  En- 
derby," replied  Bane,  in  the  dead-level  tone  of  utter  hope- 
lessness. 

[40] 


AGAINST      THE      MOUNTAIN 

"  Not  so  bad,  not  so  bad ! "  said  Maxon,  scanning  him 
closely  for  sign  of  injury. 

"  Where  's  Plinney  ?  "  asked  Enderby. 

"  Dead ! "  said  Billy,  and  pointed  to  the  silent  figure  in 
the  shadows. 

"Eh?"  said  Maxon  turning  swiftly.  "That's  differ- 
ent! How  do  you  know?  Let  us  see.  Let  us  see." 

His  stern  face  lost  its  look  of  calm  rejoicing  and 
hardened  for  a  battle  against  death  as  he  hovered  over  the 
quiet  face  of  Plinney.  Soon  he  straightened  from  his  eager 
search  and  softly  replacing  Plinney's  fallen  cap  upon  his 
face,  said: 

"  There  is  nothing  here  for  me  to  do,  Enderby." 

"  Your  wife 's  out  there,  Billy,"  said  Enderby,  slowly 
crowding  him  toward  the  gangway.  "  Go  on  home.  I  '11 
look  after  things  here.  Go  with  them,  Doc.,  will  you?  " 

"  Take  care  of  Plinney,"  said  Bane  huskily, 

"  Go  on  home,"  replied  Enderby,  steadily. 

Outside,  near  the  track,  in  the  lee  of  the  despatcher's 
office,  stood  a  little  group,  mud-smeared,  storm-beaten,  but 
silent,  with  a  mite  of  a  woman,  tear-stained  and  smiling 
vaguely. 

"  Oh,  Billy,  I  'm  so  glad !  "  she  cried,  as  Maxon  and  Bane 
came  from  the  engine. 

"  Glad  ?  Oh !  All  rip1'*.,  little  woman,"  he  added  quickly 
with  lowered  voice  as  he  V  ^»ped  above  her.  "  I  understand. 
We  lost  —  Jim  and  I.  V2  ne  mountain  won.  Come  home," 
and,  picking  her  up  tenderly  in  his  big  arms,  he  strode  away 
into  the  night  and  the  storm,  toward  the  Rim  Rock  Cliff. 

Doc.  Maxon  kept  pace  silently  in  the  rear  until  he  passed 
with  them,  as  a  comforter  in  time  of  trouble,  into  their  little 

[41] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

cottage  under  the  cliff,  well  knowing  that  this  night  marked 
the  passing  of  Billy  from  the  life  of  the  mountain  divisions. 
For  when  a  man  "  loses  them "  upon  the  mountain  and 
another's  life  is  the  price,  he  cannot  stay,  and  seldom  can 
he  return.  The  mountain  exacts  even  more,  a  double  price. 
It  requires  that  he  who  fails  or  falters  at  its  sterner  mood 
shall,  within  and  of  himself,  render  up,  in  silence,  the  things 
it  has  grudgingly  given  in  barter  for  his  wearing  days  and 
nights, —  his  pride  of  craft,  his  place  among  his  fellows, 
his  right  to  the  mountains  and  their  smile. 


'upr 


CHAPTER  III 
ROCK-A-BY  JOHNSON 

EVEN  though  the  lurking  glint  of  humor  that  seldom 
vanished  wholly  from  his  eyes  might  not  indicate  it, 
Conductor  Waverly  had  his  solemn  hours.  Many  such 
hours,  many  days,  indeed,  had  followed  the  passing  of  Jim 
Plinney  and  the  discharge  of  Billy  Bane,  before  Waverly 
was  considered  sufficiently  purged  of  his  involuntary  part  in 
the  runaway,  and  restored  to  duty. 

Following  this  were  some  months  of  perhaps  the  most 
careful  freighting  he  had  ever  done  and  then,  one  summer 
afternoon,  he  found  himself  uniformed  in  the  more  pre- 
tentious though  not  more  important  brass  and  blue  of  the 
passenger  service,  in  lieu  of  the  modest  nickelled  badge  upon 
the  hat-band  of  a  freight  conductor.  It  is  one  of  the  com- 
pensations of  the  service  that  it  breeds  a  type  of  man  who, 
at  his  best,  can  with  equal  fitness  wear  the  uniform  of  any 
of  its  phases  and  at  the  last,  perhaps,  sit  equally  well  in 
neutral  garb,  in  the  seats  of  the  railroad's  mighty. 

Clear  and  high,  as  to  altitude,  yet  deep  down  at  the 
centre  of  a  vast  bowl  in  the  mountains,  nestles  Villa  Rica, 
at  the  end  of  the  first  mountain  division  and  the  beginning  of 
the  second.  The  sheer  black  walls  of  this  ancient  crater 
spring  high  from  the  concave  bottom,  in  a  nearly  true  circle 
around  the  village,  except  for  two  deep  passes  in  the  mighty 
rim,  in  line  from  east  to  west  directly  across  its  four  miles 
of  diameter,  and  for  the  narrow  mouth  of  the  box-canyon 
which  opens  grudgingly  toward  the  coal  camp  at  Harmony. 

[43] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

Outside  of  the  rim,  for  miles  upon  the  mountain's  sloping 
sides,  are  strewn  black  volcanic  fragments  of  a  rocky  cap 
which  the  mountain,  long  ago,  tossed  high  in  air,  shattered 
and  flaming,  in  a  frenzy  of  earth-making. 

Clear  New  Mexican  sunshine  and  the  electrified  air  make 
of  the  rather  sombre-hued  pit  a  welcome  retreat  among  the 
surrounding  barrens,  and  the  placid  life  of  the  village  re- 
volves around  the  ample  shops  and  roundhouse,  which,  from 
afar,  are  mere  gray  dots  upon  the  green  watered  space  of 
the  great  central  bottom. 

The  railroad  tracks  dip  gleaming  down  from  the  passes, 
straight,  deep,  and  true  as  the  arc  of  a  pendulum's  swing. 
From  time  to  time,  the  notches  of  the  passes  are  darkened 
by  oncoming  trains  and  the  little  adobe  hamlet  with  its 
trailing  loops  and  banners  of  crimson  chili  peppers  blazing 
in  the  sun  stirs  with  repressed  life,  like  that  of  an  ant-lion 
disturbed  and  made  alert  by  the  rolling  of  a  grain  of  sand 
to  the  bottom  of  its  retreat. 

The  trains  drop  swiftly  to  the  village,  change  engines,  on 
occasion  pass  each  other,  and  hurry  away  over  the  heights 
toward  Balceta  and  the  coast,  leaving  Villa  Rica  to  relapse 
into  an  habitual,  picturesque  laziness  which  takes  little  note 
of  the  sometimes  fierce  activities  of  the  busy  shops. 

In  the  midst  of  this,  with  the  gay  sunlight  smiling  down 
upon  them,  Waverly  and  Red  Bill  Jones,  a  new  brakeman, 
sat  awaiting  the  coming  of  the  Overland  Express.  It  might 
well  be  that  theirs  was  not  a  solemn  mood  and  that  the 
careless  ease  of  a  nearby  group  of  high-hatted  natives,  who 
sat  cross-legged,  gambling  upon  a  blanket  spread  in  the 
shade  of  a  cottonwood  by  the  tracks,  communicated  itself 
in  some  measure  to  the  two  railroad  men. 

[44] 


ROCK-A-BY        JOHNSON 

Rousing  from  some  minutes  of  a  silent  retrospection, 
Waverly  spoke.  Perhaps,  in  a  rebound  of  spirits  from  the 
sorry  days  through  which  he  had  passed,  he  deliberately  set 
himself  the  task  of  painting  in  lurid  hues  the  pure  white  lily 
of  railroad  truth.  Or,  the  misnamed  tiger  lily  with  its 
daring  reds  and  leopard  spots,  may  have  —  but  of  what 
use  is  it  to  guess  his  prompting? 

Whether  the  tale  that  he  unfolded  was  merely  colored  by 
the  roseate  hue  of  memories  that  cling  to  the  halcyon  days 
of  railroading  before  the  "  modernizing  experts "  grew 
apace,  or  whether  he  cheerfully  extemporized  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  stranger  brakeman  within  the  gates,  it  is 
certain  that  Balceta's  prosaic  office  files  indicate  that  one 
Johnson,  once  upon  a  time,  came  to  sudden  local  fame  and 
a  mild  sort  of  railroad  infamy,  somewhat  in  the  way  of 
Waverly's  telling.  And  it  is  equally  certain  that  Waverly's 
first  utterance  was  a  harmless  truth. 

"  That,"  said  he,  nodding  toward  an  engineer  who  was 
oiling  around  a  big  express  engine  that  stood  before  the  little 
station,  "  is  Rock-a-by  Johnson.  He  will  pull  us  on  the 
Overland." 

"  Rock-a-by  Johnson ! "  echoed  the  brakeman,  tilting  his 
chair  to  an  easy  angle  against  the  adobe  wall  of  the  Casa 
Grande  Hotel.  "  Well,  that  might  be  a  winner  in  vaudeville, 
but  what 's  he  doing  with  it  on  a  fast-line  engine?  " 

"  It  was  a  winner  in  vaudeville  —  once  —  and  it 's  a  winner 
now,  anywhere  you  find  Johnson  on  this  line,  hombre," 
responded  Waverly  slowly,  dividing  his  attention  impar- 
tially between  a  critical  admiration  of  Johnson's  engine  and 
the  filling  of  his  own  pipe. 

"  They  can't,  any  of  them,  beat  him  much  on  fast-line ; 

[45] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

and  he  pulled  me  into  and  out  of  many  a  tight  place  in  the 
older  days  on  freight. 

"  If  I  was  cornered  hard,  I  'd  have  to  say  that  Johnson 
was  some  reckless,  years  back,  but  not  now.  And  he  sure 
is  n't,  and  never  was,  what  you  could  call  a  weak  member. 

"  Right  here  between  these  passes  is  where  he  got  it.  Be- 
fore that,  he  was  just  plain  Jack  Johnson.  Time  was,  when 
it  was  just  as  well  not  to  call  him  '  Rock-a-by,'  if  he  heard 
you." 

Johnson,  having  taken  a  careful  half-turn  on  the  cover 
of  a  grease  cup,  finished  his  inspection  and  climbed  into  the 
engine  cab.  Hearing  the  familiar  name,  which  had  long 
since  ceased  to  offend,  his  weather-browned  face  took  on  a 
fleeting  smile.  He  nodded  a  friendly  salute  to  Waverly  and 
his  companion,  and  then  pulled  down  a  length  or  two  below 
the  station. 

The  new  brakeman  lazily  watched  the  crumpling  of  rich 
brown  Mexican  leaf  between  Waverly 's  thumb  and  palm, 
and  when  Waverly  passed  the  pouch  to  him,  briefly  asked : 

"Chihuahua?" 

"  Huimanguillo.  Imported  from  over  the  border,  in 
Johnson's  seat-box,  as  rolled  overalls.  Which  proves  that 
the  meek  shall  inherit  the  earth,  or  at  least  some  of  the  good 
things  thereof,  and  no  questions  asked  by  customs  men,  as 
of  the  proud  and  haughty  tourist  great,"  laughed  Waverly. 

"  Nothing  better  for  a  smoke,"  agreed  the  brakeman, 
thumbing  the  tobacco  with  the  ail1  of  an  expert.  "  I  '11 
take  a  dose." 

As  the  soft  exhaust  of  Johnson's  engine  ceased  throb- 
bing, the  expectant  hush  of  late  afternoon  again  settled  upon 
the  sleepy  little  border  town.  The  western  pass,  backed  by 
the  slanting  sun,  shone  like  a  great  golden  wedge  in  the 

[46] 


ROCK-A-BY        JOHNSON 

dark  wall  of  the  rim-rock  and  the  shadows  were  beginning 
to  reach  toward  the  sunny  central  plat. 

Waverly's  eyes  swept  up  searchingly  from  the  slim  gold 
watch  in  his  hand,  to  the  sky-line  above  the  pass ;  then  down, 
with  a  reminiscent,  smiling  glance  upon  the  group  that  sat 
softly  swearing  and  lisping  musical  gutturals  upon  their 
gaudy  blanket,  winning  or  losing  with  subdued  expressions 
of  deep  unction.  They  had  ceased  their  playing  only  long 
enough  to  gaze  in  awed  silence  at  Johnson  rolling  slowly  by, 
at  the  cab  window;  and  Johnson  had  set  a  narrow-eyed  look 
upon  the  blanket,  seeming  to  imply  something  more  than 
was  there  apparent. 

The  brakeman  was  looking,  with  a  gleam  of  interest, 
toward  Johnson's  farther  position. 

"  Maybe  we  have  time  for  it,  if  you  want  it,"  said  Wav- 
erly,  catching  the  import  of  his  companion's  glance. 

"  It  looks  to-day  just  about  as  it  did  when  Johnson  broke 
over  the  pass  with  his  bob-tail  engine  and  waked  up  Villa 
Rica,  as  only  a  doby  town  can  wake  up  on  short  notice;  and 
that 's  been  many  a  day  ago. 

"  There 's  old  Camargo  in  that  bunch,  leaning  over  the 
dealer;  too  old  to  gamble  now,  but  he  used  to  run  the  Hi- 
dalgo monte  parlor,  and  take  in  a  good-sized  slice  of  John- 
son's pay,  along  with  that  of  some  more  people  I  know  even 
better  than  I  know  Johnson.  But  Camargo  sure  lost  a  wad 
the  day  Johnson  made  his  celebrated  run. 

"  And  I  see  others  in  that  game,  now,  who  bet  their  som- 
breros on  Johnson,  that  day,  and  went  home  bareheaded, 
after  the  thing  was  over. 

"  Herrera,  a  blind  siding,  lies  three  miles  over  the  western 
rim,  yonder,  just  as  it  did  those  years  ago;  no  telegraph 
office. 

[47] 


MARK     E  N  D  E  R  B  Y  :      ENGINEER 

"  Johnson  was  pulling  me  up  from  Balceta,  with  eight 
cars  of  what  we  then  called  fast  freight,  when  he  sheared  a 
cross-head  key  and  blowed  a  cylinder-head  out  with  the  piston 
of  his  old  wood-burner  engine. 

"  The  siding  lies  in  a  sag  and,  by  making  a  quick  throw 
of  the  switch,  we  managed  to  drag  in  off  the  main  line,  with 
one  side  blowing. 

"  I  wanted  Johnson  to  wait  until  we  were  overtaken  and 
let  the  next  section  couple  on  and  help  us  to  the  rim  and 
drop  us  down  with  themselves  to  Villa  Rica.  But  he  was 
ashamed  to  do  that,  and  held  that  he  could  cut  the  tender 
loose  —  no  air  those  days  —  and  let  himself  over  here  for 
help,  with  the  engine's  good  side  working  in  back  motion, 
down  that  west  grade  there." 

"  Daffy !  "  said  the  brakeman,  staring  through  a  blue  haze 
of  fragrant  Huimanguillo  to  where  the  shimmering  rails 
appeared  to  run  together  at  the  far  top  of  the  hazardous 
grade. 

"  That 's  what  I  told  him,  but  he  would  n't  have  it.  So, 
his  fireman  climbed  off  —  and  I  had  n't  the  heart  to  see  him 
go  it  alone,  after  all  we  had  gone  through  together.  I 
stayed  with  him,"  said  Waverly,  in  half  apology. 

"  Holy  smoke !  "  exclaimed  the  brakeman. 

"  You  bet ! "  nodded  Waverly,  rather  irrelevantly,  but 
with  much  earnestness. 

"  Well,  we  blocked  one  side  of  her  without  much  trouble," 
Waverly  continued  dubiously.  "  We  filled  up  the  boiler,  cut 
loose  and  pinched  her  over  the  centre,  and  Johnson  worked 
her  up  to  the  rim-rock  without  stalling. 

"  When  he  tipped  over  into  the  sink  here,  he  put  the  right 
side  to  working  easy,  in  back  motion. 

"  Look  at  that  grade ! "  Waverly  suddenly  exclaimed, 

[48] 


ROCK-A-BY        JOHNSON 

pointing  with  his  pipe-stem,  up  the  western  slope.  "  A  doby 
dollar  will  slide  down  flat  on  the  rail  head,  from  top  to  bot- 
tom ;  or  nigh  about  do  it. 

"  I  should  n't  wonder  if  Johnson  strained  the  right  side 
some,  pulling  into  the  siding  at  Herrera.  At  any  rate,  all 
went  pretty  well  until  we  were  about  one-fourth  of  the  way 
down  here  from  the  top. 

"  By  that  time,  we  were  coming  a  little  too  fast  and  John- 
son gave  her  some  more  of  the  breeching. 

"  For  a  celebration,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  beat,  but 
I  would  n't  admire  to  be  present  at  any  more  of  that  kind  of 
jubilee.  She  let  go  with  a  roar  like  a  mortar  battery  and 
the  right-hand  piston  shot  out  and  ploughed  up  the  dirt 
ballast  two  lengths  ahead  and  then  went  to  turning  hand- 
springs and  somersaults,  playing  tag  down  the  grade  with 
fragments  of  the  cylinder-head. 

"  Before  the  echoes  were  done  booming  back  from  the 
rock  circle,  we  were  going  at  a  rate  that  made  Johnson's 
blouse-flaps  snap  in  the  wind  till  I  could  hear  them  across 
the  engine,  between  the  ripping  blasts  of  steam  at  every  half- 
turn  of  the  wheels,  roaring  out  of  the  open  cylinder.  Beau- 
tiful fix,  was  n't  it  ?" 

The  brakeman  paled  a  shade  under  his  tan,  nodded,  and 
with  a  quick  rap  emptied  the  ashes  from  his  pipe  in  silence. 

"'Hop?'  I  called  across  to  Johnson.  For  answer,  he 
swung  around  on  his  cushion  and  hung  his  feet  out  of  the 
cab  window.  Then  he  pulled  the  whistle-cord  tight  over  his 
shoulder  and  gave  them  notice  down  here  that  we  were  com- 
ing, and  just  grinned  at  me. 

"  '  Big  day  for  Villa  Rica ! '  he  yelled. 

"  It  was,"  Waverly  added  emphatically,  with  another  wide- 
eyed  glance  up  the  western  slope. 
4  [49] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  The  wind  was  whipping  tears  from  our  eyes  by  then, 
but  we  could  see  the  villagers  down  here  scuttling  around 
like  a  nest  of  red  ants  on  queen  day ;  first,  toward  the  tracks, 
and  then,  when  they  caught  the  full  sound  of  us,  scurrying 
away  from  the  tracks  and  into  the  nearest  dobies. 

"  We  swooped  down  into  the  bottom,  here,  in  less  than  a 
minute  from  the  time  Johnson  gave  them  first  call  with  the 
whistle,  and  the  uproar  was  something  scandalous.  He  was 
holding  the  whistle  open  then,  and  when  he  first  realized  that 
he  had  made  a  mess  of  it,  he  was  too  mad  to  shut  the  throttle 
—  did  n't  matter  a  particle  to  us,  of  course,  with  both  sides 
dead  —  so  the  steam  was  snorting  from  the  cylinder,  and 
the  whistle  whooping,  and  Johnson  with  his  feet  out  of  the 
window,  looking  as  savagely  happy  as  a  fighting  man  can 
look  when  he  is  mad  enough  to  quarrel  with  a  hatching  hen. 

"  We  dove  through  here  like  a  crippled  hawk  on  a  down 
swoop,  and  not  a  man  in  sight,  except  where  a  high  hat 
stuck  out  of  a  doby  door,  for  a  second,  and  disappeared 
with  a  jerk. 

"  Just  as  we  struck  the  sand-house  switch,  there,  this  side 
of  where  Johnson's  engine  now  stands,  the  shock  from  the 
frog  and  the  sweep  of  the  air  ripped  the  old  balloon-top 
stack  loose  at  the  base  and  it  keeled  over  on  the  boiler, 
bounced  off  to  one  side,  and  rolled  across  the  clay  platform, 
plugging  the  door  of  Camargo's  Hidalgo  parlor  as  tight  as 
a  cork  plugs  a  bottle. 

"  Camargo  and  his  people  came  out  of  the  window  like  a 
flock  of  bats  from  a  knothole,  and  before  we  had  scudded  a 
third  of  the  way  up  grade,  they  had  a  blanket  down  on  the 
ground  and  were  laying  bets  upon  whether  we  would  go  on 
over  the  pass,  or  run  back  here  to  Villa  Rica. 

"  Well,  of  course,  we  did  n't  go  over,  but  it  was  n't  much 

[501 


ROCK-A-BY        JOHNSON 

of  a  margin  in  our  favor,  and  when  she  began  to  slow  up, 
toward  the  top  of  her  first  climb,  I  thought  I  had  had  enough. 
None  of  them,  down  below,  was  likely  to  be  in  doubt  about 
which  way  we  were  going,  when  we  ran  back. 

"  'Come  on,  Jack ! '  I  called  to  Johnson,  and  climbed  off, 
just  as  she  was  coming  to  a  halt. 

"  '  I  told  you  at  Herrera  that  I  am  going  to  stay  with 
her,'  he  gritted  at  me  through  his  teeth.  *  It 's  straight 
track,  and  a  hot  time  for  Villa  Rica.  I  '11  pick  you  up  when 
I  come  up  next  time,'  he  sung  out  over  his  shoulder,  as  she 
started  back  down  the  hill. 

"  You  can  call  it  what  you  please,  Bo,  but  I  ran  after 
her  and  hopped  on  again." 

"  Well,  that 's  what  I  'd  call  it ! "  said  the  brakeman,  in 
disgust.  "  And  I  'm  obliged  to  tell  you  that  I  would  n't 
whisper  it  none,  either." 

"  That 's  right,"  Waverly  assented.  "  I  know  I  was. 
But  you  've  no  idea  how  the  thing  got  into  my  blood  when 
I  found  that  Johnson  was  going  to  ride  her  to  a  stand-still. 

"  '  I  can  go  where  you  can,'  I  told  him,  and  I  got  up  on  the 
fireman's  side,  and  we  stayed  with  her. 

"  Talk  about  your  tobogganing,  roller-coasting,  snow- 
shoeing  down  the  side  of  a  mountain  on  a  snow  crust !  I 
have  done  them  all,  and  those  runs  up  one  side  of  the  sink 
and  down  the  other  had  them  rolled  into  one,  and  beaten 
tame  as  sheep,  at  that. 

"  She  gathered  speed  at  every  turn,  until  her  little  wheels 
could  do  no  more  — ' 

"  Might  have  thrown  her  rods  through  you ! "  volunteered 
the  brakeman. 

"  Yes.  That 's  what  I  was  thinking,  then,"  said  Waverly, 
"  but  she  did  n't.  And  we  ran  down  to  the  group  on  the 

[51] 


MARK     EN DERBY:     ENGINEER 

blanket,  so  quick  that  they  had  not  time  to  get  their  money 
all  off  the  blanket  for  the  east-side  run  and  place  it  for  the 
rush  up  the  other  side.  They  were  just  making  the  pay-off 
when  the  engine  dove  down  close  upon  them.  A  little  too 
late,  old  Camargo  jumped  to  his  feet,  holding  a  corner  of  the 
blanket,  and  turned  his  back  to  the  track  with  the  others. 

"  The  hurricane  of  wind,  dust,  and  steam  from  the  engine 
caught  them  across  their  crouching  backs,  swooped  under 
the  upturned  blanket  and  waved  it  like  a  banner,  then  whirled 
them,  blanket,  men,  and  money,  into  a  tangled  web  of  arms 
and  legs,  fighting  like  a  bunch  of  coyotes  over  a  downed 
maverick  calf,  before  the  cloud  we  had  stirred  up  shut  out 
our  brief  sight  of  them. 

"  The  town  was  in  an  uproar,  and  a  bunch  of  horsemen 
came  racing  after  us  up  the  west  grade.  But  they  might 
as  well  have  chased  a  bullet,  at  that  stage  of  the  run.  They 
galloped  their  horses  a  mile  up  the  ditch  by  the  tracks,  after 
us,  with  Johnson  yelling  *  Bravo!  Bravissimo,  hombre!  '  al- 
though you  could  not  have  heard  his  voice  ten  feet  outside 
of  the  cab  window  —  and  he  knew  it. 

"  They  got  down  and  laid  their  game  there,  on  how  far 
we  should  run  up  and  how  long  it  would  take  us  to  get  back. 
There  were  great  business  opportunities  in  the  run,  for  them, 
you  see,  and  they  moved  their  camp  down  the  slope  to  suit, 
after  we  passed  them  on  the  return;  and  in  that  way  they, 
and  several  other  groups  strung  out  on  both  sides  of  Villa 
Rica,  stayed  with  us  to  the  finish. 

"  It  is  safe  to  say  that  they  covered  every  point  upon 
which  a  bet  could  be  laid.  The  whistling-post  on  each  side 
of  the  town,  the  station  board,  the  dry  culvert,  and  the 
bridge  over  the  Canadian  Fork,  each  had  its  bevy  of  specu- 
lators, and  the  sight  of  it  got  into  Johnson's  sporting  blood. 

[52] 


ROCK-A-BY        JOHNSON 

"  Six  times  we  made  the  hair-raising  dive  through  the  town, 
and  the  smoking  driving-boxes  and  truck  journals  were  be- 
ginning to  shorten  down  our  run  quite  rapidly,  when  I  dis- 
covered that  the  western  pass  was  darkened  by  the  bulk  of  the 
second  section,  the  crew  of  which  stood  looking  down  in  high 
glee,  upon  our  continuous  performance. 

"  With  the  danger  of  the  first  wild  speed  past,  it  was  to  the 
boys  on  the  hill  a  big  safe  open-air  vaudeville  of  rock-a-by, 
with  Johnson  taking  the  star  part,  but  it  had  to  come  to  a 
finish  and  let  them  flag  down  off  the  hill  as  they  had  flagged 
up  from  Herrera. 

"  I  told  Johnson  so,  and  then  he  sprung  the  scheme  he 
had  been  hatching  while  watching  the  antics  of  the  Mex- 
icans. 

"  '  It 's  not  square ! '  I  told  him. 

"  '  It 's  as  square  as  Camargo's  monte  game  that  we  've 
been  bucking  for  the  last  three  years,'  said  Johnson,  sticking 
out  his  chin  at  me. 

"  I  had  to  admit  that  he  was  right,  at  that,  so  when  we 
dipped  down  that  time,  I  stayed  on  as  long  as  I  could,  toward 
the  town;  then  hopped  off  and  ran  the  rest  of  the  way  to 
where  old  Camargo  had  reorganized  his  game  on  the  blanket 
—  right  where  you  see  them  now. 

"  I  bet  him  two  hundred  and  fifty  in  gold,  against  a 
blanketful  of  doby  silver,  that  Johnson  would  not  pass  the 
station  twice  more  before  the  engine  stopped.  He  took  a 
look  at  Jack's  bob-tail  racing  up  the  east  bank,  and  it  looked 
so  good  to  him  that  he  took  me  as  if  he  was  afraid  I  'd  get 
away. 

"  We  gave  the  stakes  to  Abe  Hazard,  station  agent  as 
well  as  marshal  then,  to  hold.  Abe  was  the  surest  gun-hand 
in  the  place,  and  nobody  ever  argued  much  with  him. 

[53] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

"  The  rest  of  them  made  bets  among  themselves,  when  they 
got  the  idea,  and  there  was  hardly  a  saddle,  hat,  or  pair  of 
boots  in  the  crowd  that  was  not  up  on  the  game.  It  looked 
so  sure,  too,  that  Johnson  would  go  on  dealing  the  game  for 
their  amusement  for  at  least  three  short  trips  more,  that  most 
of  the  stuff  was  offered  that  he  would  pass  the  station  twice 
more,  and  they  had  to  give  big  odds  to  get  any  takers. 

"  I  sort  of  lost  interest  in  it,  after  Abe  Hazard  put  the 
money  away  for  me  and  Johnson ;  but  I  slid  out  around  the 
station  and  after  Johnson  went  by  once,  going  west,  throwed 
that  strap  switch  that  leads  to  the  blind  end  against  the  sand 
house. 

"  The  next  time  she  came  nosing  down,  the  journals  were 
blazing.  She  took  the  switch  as  pretty  as  anything  you 
ever  saw  and  ran  half  a  dozen  lengths  short  of  the  station 
and  butted  her  nose  into  the  sand  house  and  stopped;  just 
as  if  she  had  been  having  her  fun  and  was  tired. 

"  Johnson  sat  there  with  his  fool  feet  out  of  the  window, 
kicking  his  heels  against  the  side  of  the  cab,  and  sung  out: 
'  How  much  did  we  make,  Waverly  ?  ' 

"  Old  Camargo  yelled  like  a  hyena,  but  you  had  to  know 
when  to  quit  yelling  around  Abe  Hazard,  those  days;  and 
Camargo  knew.  Besides,  he  knew  he  'd  soon  get  it  back 
from  us  at  monte;  so  Johnson  and  I  whacked  up  with  Abe, 
in  the  station,  and  what  we  cleared  near  about  squared  us  for 
the  thirty-day  lay-off  we  each  got  for  making  a  fool  play 
with  the  engine. 

"  There  's  Enderby,"  he  finished,  pocketing  his  pipe,  as  a 
little  cloud  of  mottled  white  and  black  rolled  up  above  the 
notch  of  the  western  pass  and  floated  away  into  the  red  glow 
of  the  sun  behind  the  mountain.  The  big  bulk  of  the  Over- 
land Express  darkened  the  notch  of  the  pass,  for  a  moment, 
and  then  the  magnificent  train  came  sweeping  down  the  long 

[54] 


ROCK-A-BY        JOHNSON 

grade  toward  them,  with  a  solemn  dignity  that  reckoned 
nothing  of  the  hare-brained  comedy  of  Johnson's  and  Wav- 
erly's  earlier  making  upon  the  line  of  her  stately  coming. 

But  a  few  minutes  more,  and  Waverly,  with  the  brake- 
man,  stood  at  Johnson's  gangway  handing  up  orders.  A 
soft  Spanish  voice  rose  from  the  undisturbed  group  upon  the 
blanket. 

"  Sesta  ?  "  it  questioned,  enticingly. 

"  Cinco"  came  the  equally  soft  but  positive  reply. 

"  Si"  answered  the  first  voice,  eagerly,  and  the  wager  was 
laid. 

"  Johnson,  do  you  hear  that?  "  said  Waverly,  with  a  spark 
of  deviltry  glowing  deep  in  his  upturned  eyes.  "  They  have 
been  betting  on  you  ever  since  you  staged  your  great  one- 
act  farce  of  *  Rock-a-by  Johnson,'  and  they  are  at  it  now. 

"  They  have  that  stack  of  pesos  down  on  whether  it  will 
take  six  minutes,  or  five,  for  you  to  pull  up  through  the  east 
notch,  after  we  get  a-going !  " 

*' 1  would  n't  mind  having  a  few  down  on  that,  myself  — 
if  it  was  ten  years  back  —  but  that 's  all  done  for  now,  eh, 
Waverly  ?  "  said  Johnson,  after  carefully  reading,  signing, 
folding  the  orders  and  tucking  them  away  in  his  blouse 
pocket.  "  But,  the  senor  who  bet  his  stack  on  the  '  five ' 
takes  the  pesos.  Give  me  the  *  high-ball '  and  get  aboard, 
you  fellows,  for  I  'm  a-going,  right  now !  " 

Five  minutes  later,  the  observation  windows  in  the  rear  end 
of  the  Overland  blinked  back  twin  points  of  light  from  the 
setting  sun ;  down  from  the  notch  of  the  pass  to  the  waiting 
group  upon  the  blanket.  Then  the  sky-line  of  the  pass 
cleared  and  the  Overland  was  gone. 

The  senor  who  bet  on  the  "  five  "  had  won,  and  the  little 
bevy  of  Villa  Rica  citizens  took  up  its  blanket  and  dissolved 
into  the  lengthening  shadows  among  the  adobes. 

[55] 


CHAPTER  IV 
A  TANGLE  IN  RED  TAPE 

(  4"\7"ES,  he  's  had  the  experience,  now,  and  he  's  just 
J[      about   born   with   the    judgment   to   back    it   up. 
He  '11  swing  the  job,  all  right,  never  fear,"  said  Enderby. 

He  was  speaking  to  his  fireman,  McPeltrie,  and  a  few 
other  congenials  who  had  foregathered  at  Villa  Rica  round- 
house water  tank,  a  few  days  after  the  arrival  of  Dinwiddy, 
the  new  master  mechanic. 

Dinwiddy,  as  a  boy,  had  been  known  to  a  few  of  the  older 
men.  Later,  as  a  young  man  of  much  quiet  strength  of 
character,  he  had  been  known  to  many  of  all  ages  upon  the 
two  divisions.  But,  as  master  mechanic  at  a  point  so  trying 
as  Villa  Rica,  he  was  a  new  and  material  factor  that  seemed 
to  require  their  very  serious  consideration. 

"  Yes,  he  '11  swing  it  and,  as  square  as  ever  a  place  was 
run,  he  '11  run  it,  you  can  rely,"  Enderby  continued,  when 
nothing  to  the  contrary  was  forthcoming. 

"  I  found  him  chuckling  over  a  little  parcel  of  something 
or  other  that  he  found  among  his  belongings,  when  he  's  un- 
packing, the  other  day,  and  from  what  he  told  me  about  it  he 
got  up  to  passing  high  notice  at  headquarters,  once  or  twice, 
and  had  some  stirring  moments  as  master  mechanic  over  Red 
River  way. 

"  I  've  known  him  since  buttoned  waists,  but  at  that,  he  's 
not  given  to  saying  much." 

[56] 


A     TANGLE     IN     RED     TAPE 

"  Let 's  have  it,  Pap,"  said  McPeltrie  promptly.  "  Let 's 
know  some  about  this  wonder-child." 

"  Not  so  fast,  not  so  fast ! "  protested  Enderby  laugh- 
ingly. "  I  can  mebbe  tell  you  some  about  him  when  needful, 
but,  without  seeing  all  the  papers  he  alludes  to  while  he  's 
telling  it,  or  knowing  the  complete  internals  of  it,  I  would  n't 
like  to  venture  out  on  such  a  schedule.  It  ain't  so  important 
as  avoiding  engine  delays,  at  any  rate,  and  we  must  be  mov- 
ing, Mack.  You  will  get  to  know  Dinwiddy's  ways,  all  in 
good  time." 

The  members  of  the  gathering  separated  and  went  about 
their  various,  leisurely  preparations  for  the  running  of 
schedules  of  which  they  knew  the  "  complete  internals." 

The  "  schedule  "  of  the  Red  River  incident,  upon  which 
Dinwiddy  had  ventured  cautiously  and  upon  which  Enderby 
would  not  venture  at  all,  was  this. 

The  north-bound  mail,  starting  out  of  Oscalla,  down  in  the 
Texas  border,  early  one  summer  morning,  launched  a  boom- 
erang. 

Dinwiddy,  who  handed  the  missive  to  the  railway  mail 
clerk,  was  peacefully  unaware  of  its  peculiar  destiny.  The 
duties  of  master  mechanic  at  Oscalla  did  not  weigh  heavily 
just  then,  and  Dinwiddy  allowed  himself  some  latitude.  The 
place  was  then  little  more  than  a  name.  The  new  division 
ran  down  over  the  rolling  plains  to  the  river,  barely  crossed 
it  into  Texas,  and  ended  there.  But  Texas  law  required  that 
there  be  a  master  mechanic  stationed  within  the  State  line, 
and  Dinwiddy  was  sent  over  from  the  mountain  divisions  of 
the  main  line  and  duly  installed. 

He  was  young,  he  liked  the  open  country  second  only  to 
the  mountains  and,  with  his  handful  of  men,  was  fairly  busy 
and  quite  happy  in  this,  his  first  official  appointment.  With 

[57] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

content  like  that  of  a  captain  on  his  own  quarter-deck,  he 
walked  a  turn  or  two  upon  the  little  station  platform.  Yet 
the  voice  of  spring  was  crooning  in  the  wake  of  a  Texas 
"  norther  "  recently  past,  and  Dinwiddy  was  yielding  to  the 
call  to  come  afield. 

Reaching  the  end  of  the  station  platform  for  the  second 
time,  he  crossed  the  track,  sprung  two  strands  of  barbed-wire 
fence  apart  to  pass  his  lithe  body,  and  sidled  through  into 
the  grove  of  naked  pecan  trees  that  fronted  the  depot  and 
office. 

Selecting  a  few  of  the  fittest  of  the  brown  nuts  that  had 
lain  ungathered  through  the  winter,  he  cracked  them  between 
his  strong  teeth,  while  he  watched  the  fluttering  tail  flags  of 
the  mail  train  disappear  in  the  slant  of  the  bridge  over  Red 
River.  He  munched  contentedly  at  the  frost-sweetened  ker- 
nels, and  listened  to  the  regular,  chuckling  exhaust  of  the 
engine  until  the  train  glided  into  view  again  at  the  farther 
side  of  the  river. 

"  I'll  make  a  job  of  that,  if  they  send  it  down  in  time," 
he  said  aloud,  and  turning,  walked  farther  among  the  gray 
tree-trunks. 

In  the  "  R.  R.  B."  budget,  four  days  later,  with  some  other 
railroad  business,  came  a  question  to  Oscalla  direct  from  the 
Chicago  office. 

"Your  number  2880,"  it  read.  "Why  Glimmer's,  in- 
stead of  Standard?  " 

Below  the  question  Dinwiddy  wrote :  "  For  use  on  special. 
Standard  slightly  corrosive.  Please  rush." 

The  clerk  who  received  that  reply,  in  the  office  of  the  super- 
intendent of  motive  power,  at  Chicago,  was  a  friend  of  a 
friend  of  Keener,  the  purchasing  agent,  and  the  friend  of 
Keener  sat  near  the  clerk. 

[58] 


A     TANGLE     IN     RED     TAPE 

"  I  'd  let  Keener  see  that,"  said  the  friend. 

Keener,  from  long  experience,  expected  objections  and,  to 
his  eyes,  points  of  objection  protruded  from  the  pages  of  his 
correspondence  like  thorns  upon  which  he  must  nakedly  walk. 
First  and  last,  it  was  the  objections  that  impressed  him  most. 

For  various  reasons,  he  considered  Standard  a  good  thing 
to  buy.  It  carried  with  it  a  line  of  more  important  pur- 
chases that  meant  much  in  the  sum  total  of  the  year's  ex- 
penditures for  the  railroad,  and,  therefore,  meant  much  to 
Keener. 

"  We  have  a  request  for  Glimmer's,  to  replace  Standard, 
on  a  rush  order.  Standard  said  to  be  slightly  corrosive  and 
destructive.  What  do  you  advise  ?  " 

That  is  what  Keener  read,  over  the  signature  of  the  super- 
intendent of  motive  power,  per  clerk.  Well  meant,  hurried, 
perhaps,  but  a  somewhat  stronger  indictment  than  Dinwiddy 
had  laid  against  Standard. 

Corrosive?  Slightly  corrosive?  Why,  of  course  it  was 
slightly  corrosive!  Why  not?  Did  they  think  it  was  eat- 
able? 

Destructive?  Destructive!  Why  d-thunder!  Then  Keen- 
er wrote : 

"  I  am  sending  you  an  unbroken  package  of  Standard, 
to-day,  and  advise  that  you  submit  it  at  once  to  your  chemist, 
for  analysis.  I  am  satisfied  that  his  report  will  justify  the 
use  of  Standard,  and  nothing  else." 

To  Lowry,  the  chemist  at  Rainbow,  the  assembled  papers 
went  in  next  day's  mail  and  in  the  baggage  car  went  the 
package  of  Standard  for  analysis. 

"  Please  note,  herewith,  all  papers  on  corrosive  effect  of 
Standard,  and  receive  under  separate  tag  the  package  for 
analysis.1 

[59] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  Your  report  is  desired,  as  early  as  possible,  giving  full 
information.  The  purchasing  agent  is  quite  positive,  and 
we  are  holding  an  order,  subject  to  your  report."  So  wrote 
the  clerk. 

Lowry,  in  the  busy  midst  of  a  laboratory  full  of  half- 
finished  physical  tests,  where  Moser's  pulling-gear  was  whir- 
ring, his  own  test-tubes  bubbling,  and  small  crucibles  glowing, 
read  into  the  bunch  until  the  first  grave  charge  of  destruc- 
tiveness  was  found.  He  turned  that  letter  and  the  package 
over  to  an  assistant,  and  gave  his  instructions. 

"  Attached  is  report  of  analysis  of  Standard,"  wrote 
Lowry,  very  soon,  "  and  all  papers  returned. 

"  The  analysis  shows  that  there  is  a  slight  excess  of  ele- 
ments which,  in  full  strength,  would  be  destructive  to  oily  or 
fatty  matter,  cast  iron,  steel,  or  other  carbon-bearing  ma- 
terial; but  does  not  indicate  a  bad  combination  for  brass, 
nickel,  or  silver. 

"  To  illustrate :  The  active  elements  would  not  in j  ure  a 
brass  hand-rail  but,  in  full  strength,  would  rapidly  destroy 
a  car  wheel,  if  allowed  to  drip  into  the  throat  or  fillet." 

Lowry  had  that  report  thought  out  carefully  enough,  and 
the  main  point  at  issue  was  covered ;  but  too  deeply.  In  his 
mental  habit  of  demonstrator  and  chemist,  he  seized  upon  an 
unfortunate  illustration. 

The  subject  of  broken  flanges  on  freight-car  wheels  was 
up  just  then,  and  the  correspondence  was  rapidly  taking  on 
color  in  its  trail  from  the  office  of  division  superintendent, 
through  the  office  of  general  superintendent,  to  the  office  of 
general  manager;  from  the  office  of  general  manager, 
through  the  office  of  chief  engineer,  to  the  office  of  division 
engineer,  .and  back  to  the  general  manager ;  never  missing  the 

[60] 


A     TANGLE     IN     RED     TAPE 

office  of  superintendent  of  motive  power,  before  it  started  on 
another  round  of  accumulation. 

Freight  cars  had  broken  down  and  strewn  the  main-line 
passenger  tracks  with  wreckage,  at  a  critical  moment.  Also, 
some  steel  tires  had  gone  to  pieces  unaccountably,  and  alto- 
gether there  had  recently  been  some  awful  slaughter  of  pas- 
sengers. The  wrecked  coaches  were,  even  then,  standing 
well  in  behind  the  main  shops  at  Rainbow,  with  their  racks 
and  head-linings  smeared  with  blood,  and  their  exteriors  red 
with  southern  clay. 

When  the  correspondence  about  Standard  got  back  to 
Chicago,  with  Lowry's  illustration  added,  the  clerk  glanced 
at  the  last  paragraph  and  saw,  as  he  believed,  a  chance  to 
relieve  the  tension  on  the  subject  of  broken  flanges.  He 
showed  the  letter,  without  the  budget,  to  the  superintendent 
of  motive  power. 

"  Ask  Moser  whether  he  ever  saw  anything  of  this  kind," 
said  the  superintendent  of  motive  power,  clutching  at  a  straw, 
after  a  hasty  reading  of  Lowry's  letter.  "  Ask  him  whether 
that  stuff  could  crack  wheel  flanges  in  the  fillets ;  sounds  un- 
likely to  me." 

"  Have  you  observed  anything  indicating  that  the  Stan- 
dard preparation  we  are  using  would  injure  wheel  fillets  by 
corrosion  ? "  That  was  the  question  that  went  from  the 
clerk,  back  to  Moser,  mechanical  engineer  at  Rainbow,  al- 
though Moser,  close  and  amiable  office-neighbor  to  Lowry, 
had  stood  within  hand's  reach  of  the  budget  when  it  winged 
its  brief  flight  through  the  laboratory. 

"  Might,  if  submerged  in  it  a  long  time,"  wrote  Moser 
briefly  across  the  letter,  after  making  sure  that  the  signature 
was  not  that  of  the  superintendent  of  motive  power,  and 

[61] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

believing  it  to  be  a  random  shot  from  the  general  office 
staff. 

Thinking  to  fortify  the  situation  which  he  had  appar- 
ently developed,  the  clerk  re-mailed  this  letter,  when  re- 
ceived, to  Myerson,  general  master  mechanic  at  Rainbow,  and 
accompanied  it  with  another. 

"  What  is  your  observation  on  matter  contained  in  at- 
tached papers?  "  said  his  query  to  Myerson. 

There  the  accumulation  might  easily  have  ceased  and  the 
blind  lead  ended,  had  it  been  anybody  but  Myerson.  He,  for- 
tunately for  himself  and  unfortunately  for  everybody  else 
on  the  road,  was  a  friend  of  the  friend  of  a  friend  of  the 
friend  of  a  man  who  held,  or  manipulated,  a  good  deal  of 
stock  in  the  road.  That  is,  Myerson  had,  long  ago,  caught 
out  from  under  the  wheels  of  a  backing  switch  engine  a 
setter  pup  that  had  strayed  across  the  depot  platform  to 
where  Myerson,  then  a  car-cleaner,  was  working.  The  friend, 
who  owned  the  dog,  out  of  momentary  gratitude  had  got 
for  Myerson  his  first  look  toward  advancement  and,  by  care- 
ful dodging  and  trimming  and  some  small  ability,  Myerson 
had  steered  his  craft  to  the  point  where  it  had  become  under- 
stood that  he  was  not  to  be  disturbed.  Therefore,  Myerson 
stood  firmly  in  the  track  of  railroad  business  and  batted  both 
ways  at  all  things  that  came  toward  him;  batted  just  hard 
enough  to  pass  the  responsibility  to  somebody  else,  and  as- 
sumed no  risk  from  original  thought  or  action. 

When  the  Glimmers-Standard  papers  struck  his  desk 
they  went,  almost  without  halting,  to  the  master  car-builder, 
bearing  Myerson's  usual  and  eminently  safe  indorsement: 
"  Please  note  and  return." 

When  the  papers  came  back,  with  the  car-builder's  guarded 
side-step  added,  Myerson  wrote  upon  them :  "  Please  note. 

[62] 


A     TANGLE     IN     RED     TAPE 

Our  master  car-builder  thinks  steel-tired  wheels  safest,"  and 
put  the  papers  in  Chicago  mail. 

Then  with  the  furtive  air  of  a  subordinate,  which  he  had 
never  been  able  wholly  to  discard,  he  went  out  through  the 
roundhouse,  around  back  of  the  coal  chutes,  and  into  the 
Midland  Hotel  bar  for  his  mid-afternoon  refreshment;  then 
came  deviously  back  to  his  office  to  sweat  it  out,  whispering 
with  a  sigh :  "  This  railroad  business  is  killing  hard  work." 

The  papers  got  into  the  general  offices  at  Chicago  just 
when  the  general  manager  was  calling  for  all  papers  on 
broken  wheel  flanges,  and  arranging  a  meeting  with  the  car 
company's  representative. 

Ernest,  the  motive  power  office  boy,  coming  from  the  mail- 
room,  bearing  the  innocent  Dinwiddy  budget,  now  some  three 
inches  thick,  met  chubby  little  Ike,  the  chief  engineer's  office 
boy,  with  the  six-inch  budget  of  broken-flange  literature, 
and  they  halted  and  sneered  at  one  another  in  the  long  tiled 
hallway  of  the  fourteenth  floor. 

"  What  you  got  ?  "  snarled  Ike. 

"  What  you  doin'  on  our  floor?  "  challenged  Ernest. 

"  Look  an'  see,  speckle-face,"  replied  Ike. 

"  Dare  you  to  lay  yer  papers  down,  toad,"  scowled  Ernest. 

"  You  lay  down  yours,"  gritted  Ike. 

The  two  sheaves  of  paper  struck  the  floor  together,  and 
the  pair  of  bobbing  heads  went  bumping  against  the  marble 
wall.  There  was  a  scuffling  exchange  of  sounding  thumps 
from  knotty  fists  and  when  the  janitor  pulled  the  boys  apart 
in  passing  and  handed  to  each  a  bunch  of  papers,  Ernest's 
thumb  left  a  gory  print  upon  the  Dinwiddy  bunch  and  Ike 
spattered  a  few  battle-brewed  tears  upon  the  wheel-flange 
biography. 

But  together  they  laid  their  burdens  upon  the  clerk's  desk, 

[63] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

and  he,  combining  them,  thus  put  Dinwiddy's  modest  requisi- 
tion well  to  the  middle  of  the  now  formidable  budget,  and 
no  longer  knew  that  it  was  there. 

Planted  unassumingly  by  Dinwiddy,  watered  by  the  tears 
of  little  Ike,  enriched  by  the  blood  of  Ernest,  and  assiduously 
fostered  by  all  hands,  the  innocent  requisition  was  now  a 
fearsome  thing  to  look  upon  in  its  latest  growth.  And,  al- 
though departments  of  general  offices  are  often  separated 
only  by  floors  or  corridors  of  the  same  building,  the  intrica- 
cies of  railroad  records  and  files  are  sometimes  such  that, 
as  in  this  instance,  correspondence,  once  started,  is  hard  to 
stop. 

"  Herewith,  all  papers  on  broken  wheel  flanges,"  wrote 
the  clerk.  "  Your  file  9076,  our  file  5043,  and,"  catching 
sight  of  his  own  earlier  letter,  but  not  of  the  requisition, 
which  was  tucked  short  up  in  the  file,  "  2880,  Dinwiddy." 

The  papers,  thus  combined,  went  to  the  general  manager, 
and  that  afternoon  there  was  a  spirited  meeting  in  which 
the  pleasant  amenities  of  greeting  rapidly  gave  place  to 
lightning  flashes  of  debate.  The  discussion  reached  its 
climax  in  the  general  manager's  terse  question: 

"  We  have  here,"  said  he,  "  in  failed  wheels  under  guar- 
antee, damaged  track  and  rolling-stock,  and  claims  for  per- 
sonal injury  resulting,  about  eighty-three  thousand  dollars. 
That  is  what  we  expect  to  fight  it  down  to.  What  are  you 
car  people  going  to  do  about  it?  That  is  what  we  must 
know,  to-day." 

Softly,  the  car  people's  ambassador  spoke.  He  spoke 
directly  and  with  a  soothing  politeness  to  the  general  man- 
ager ;  indirectly,  and  with  only  a  shade  less  of  consideration 
to  the  chief  engineer;  obliquely  to  the  general  superin- 
tendent ;  persuasively  to  the  superintendent  of  motive  power ; 

[64] 


A     TANGLE     IN     RED     TAPE 

and,  by  implication,  to  Moser,  the  mechanical  engineer,  who, 
by  an  all-night  run,  had  arrived  with  his  head  and  his  hands 
full  of  graphic  testimonies. 

What  the  ambassador  said  was  so  subtly  intertwined  with 
what  he  really  meant  that,  written,  it  would  fail  of  its  effect. 
But,  spoken,  all  present  understood,  by  imperceptible  de- 
grees, that  whither  the  car  folks  went  the  railroad  folks  would 
go ;  that  where  one  lodged  the  other  would  lodge ;  that  the 
car  folks'  people  were  the  railroad  people's  folks,  and  the 
car  folks'  gods  were  the  railroad  people's  gods ;  that  where 
the  car  folks  died  the  railroad  people  would  die  and  there 
would  they  be  buried. 

It  rapidly  became  apparent,  in  short,  that  somebody  had 
run  past  a  signal,  farther  back,  somewhere  in  the  line  of 
events,  and  when  Brangs,  the  chief  engineer,  spoke,  thumb- 
ing through  the  correspondence  in  a  momentary,  awkward 
hush,  he  spoke  from  the  depths  of  much  hard-bought  wisdom : 

"  Seems  to  me,"  said  he,  "  this  man  Dinwiddy,  down  there 
at  Oscalla,  went  off  at  a  tangent ;  made  a  fuss  about  nothing, 
didn't  he,  Yates?" 

"  Let 's  see ! "  demanded  the  superintendent  of  motive 
power,  with  an  accent  of  surprise  tinged  with  indignation. 
"  Why,  this  is  a  mix  — 

"  Clearest  case  I  ever  saw,"  calmly  interrupted  the  chief 
engineer. 

When  Yates  looked  up  in  bewilderment  from  the  few  plain 
words  of  Dinwiddy's  writing,  the  bronzed  face  of  Brangs, 
ordinarily  keenly  alive,  was  quite  the  most  expressionless  of 
all  in  the  conference.  There  was  something  in  his  steady 
eyes,  however,  that  found  its  way  at  once  to  Yates  and  the 
others,  and  Yates  was  hardly  less  surprised  than  his  listeners 
when  he  involuntarily  stammered: 

[65] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

"  Why,  yes  —  yes,  I  guess  he  did !  I  '11  take  that  up  with 
him  at  once !  " 

"Well,  take  the  papers  and  get  your  differences  adjusted 
between  departments,"  said  Sharer,  the  general  manager. 
"  This  is  rather  disappointing,  that  we  find  ourselves  still 
unprepared.  Please  return  our  file  when  you  have  finished 
with  it." 

The  meeting  broke  up  in  a  short  informal  chat.  The 
broken-flange  "  whale  "  had  found  a  breathing  place  in  the 
ice  of  constraint  which  had  so  suddenly  formed,  and  if  Din- 
widdy  could  have  looked  in  at  the  peaceful  finish  he  might 
have  thought :  "  There  she  blows !  " 

But  Dinwiddy  was  busy  and  happy  in  Texas,  turning 
things  back  promptly  across  Red  River.  The  illumining 
light  that  had  fallen  upon  the  wheel  question  had  apparently 
revealed  only  Dinwiddy's  requisition,  tucked  harmlessly  into 
the  heart  of  the  budget,  but  therein  seemed  to  lie  the  way 
and  the  truth. 

"  Tell  that  man  Dinwiddy  to  keep  to  Standard,  after  this, 
and  not  go  to  ordering  special  stuff,  without  permission ! " 
said  Yates,  to  the  clerk,  when  he  got  back  to  his  office  with 
the  budget.  "  But  you  may  send  him  one  package  of 
Glimmer's." 

To  Dinwiddy,  the  clerk  wrote :  "  Referring  to  your  2880 : 
Your  requisition  for  Glimmer's  instead  of  Standard  has 
caused  much  needless  trouble.  Please  order  Standard,  and 
all  regular  supplies,  hereafter,  unless  special  permission  is 
obtained  to  vary. 

"  The  package  of  Glimmer's  will  be  forwarded  to  you, 
to  fill  this  requisition,  but  no  more  of  it  will  be  furnished. 
Please  be  more  careful  in  future." 

£66,] 


A     TANGLE     IN     RED     TAPE 

Ernest,  the  office  boy,  still  deeply  interested  in  his  injured 
nose,  that  evening  copied  the  letter  in  the  press-book,  at- 
tached it  to  the  combined  file  and,  by  mistake  of  course,  the 
total  product  was  mailed  to  Dinwiddy  of  Oscalla. 

Spring  was  gone  and  the  pecan  trees  were  in  full  leaf,  when 
about  two  days  later  the  budget  landed  upon  Dinwiddy's 
rickety  little  desk,  in  a  morning  delivery.  He  looked  at  the 
opening  paragraph  and  smiled.  From  long  habit,  he  turned 
to  the  undermost  papers. 

"  Well  I  'm  — "  he  exclaimed,  but  did  not  then  finish  his 
announcement. 

He  picked  up  his  hat,  lifted  the  bunch  of  papers,  walked 
slowly  out  and  slipped  through  the  wire  fence  into  the  pleas- 
ant shade  of  the  pecan  grove.  There,  he  sat  upon  his 
favorite  log  and  read. 

He  read  of  chill-cracks  and  shell-outs  and  skid-flats  and 
of  splintered  car  bodies  and  torn-up  track ;  of  broken  head- 
linings  and  corroded  car  wheels.  He  read  of  mangled  limbs 
and  wrenched  and  maimed  bodies,  and  of  darker  things  that 
made  his  seasoned  heart  chill.  And  then  came  glimpses  of 
damage  suits,  claiming  fabulous  sums ;  until  he  found  and 
read  his  own  requisition,  coming  finally  back  to  the  letter  last 
written. 

"  Well,  I  'm  a  pelican !  A  flapping,  fish-eating  pelican, 
if  it  is  n't  all  on  me ! "  he  whispered  in  wonder.  But  Din- 
widdy was  a  loyal  young  soldier. 

"  All  papers  to  you,  herewith,"  he  wrote  that  evening, 
"  closing  my  2880. 

"  We  can  get  on  without  the  Glimmer's  soap  emulsion.  I 
wanted  it  to  brighten  up  the  general  superintendent's  car, 
when  he  laid  up  here  one  night  last  spring.  He  wrote  me 

[67] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

that  the  car  would  need  some  cleaning  and  scouring  on 
arrival  and  thought  Standard  was  a  little  too  strong  for 
some  of  his  plated  work." 

But  the  mills  of  the  gods,  grinding  slowly  and  exceeding 
fine,  are  swift  and  frivolous  things,  as  against  the  mills  of 
correspondence  which  were  grinding  out  Dinwiddy's  reward 
with  exceeding  finality. 

In  a  week  or  two,  the  canister  of  Glimmer's  emulsion  ar- 
rived at  Oscalla.  To  the  end  of  his  stay  there,  Dinwiddy 
glanced  at  it  sometimes,  where  it  remained  on  top  of  his  desk, 
and,  laughing  softly,  he  would  say: 

"Well,  I  'ma  pelican!" 


[68] 


CHAPTER  V 
THE  FOUR-EYED  CUSS 

6  4T  71  THY  will  he?"  queried  an  even-toned  but  disbe- 
y   V      lieving  voice. 

The  question  was  aimed  at  Dodson,  who  stood  defiantly 
in  the  midst  of  a  gathering  at  the  judgment  seat,  in  the 
lee  of  the  roundhouse  water  tank. 

"  Hi ! "  screeched  a  high-keyed  voice,  as  a  dismal  face  was 
suddenly  thrust  above  the  level  of  the  rails  of  the  ashpit 
in  the  foreground,  where  a  spasmodic  cloud  of  dust  had  been 
lifting. 

The  owner  of  the  mournful  countenance  had  promptly  won 
the  name  of  "  Sackcloth,"  when  he  drifted  into  Villa  Rica, 
on  his  uppers  and  a  truss-rod  plank,  and  took  a  turn  at  the 
ashpit  job;  and,  allowing  for  his  generally  dishevelled  ap- 
pearance, from  "  Sackcloth "  to  "  Sacks "  was  easy  for 
short. 

The  weather-tanned  faces  in  the  cluster  of  well-worn  blue, 
at  the  tank  caucus,  turned,  with  one  accord,  toward  the 
apparition  of  the  ashpit  and  awaited  his  further  announce- 
ment. 

"  Nothing !  "  he  volunteered  cheerfully.  "  Only,  I  wanted 
to  tell  you  fellows  that  I  feel  a  heap  sight  better  than  I 
look ! " 

"  That 's  a  long  shot  ahead  of  looking  better  than  you 
feel,  Sacks ! "  promptly  shouted  the  rollicking  voice  of 
McPeltrie  from  the  tank  bench. 

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MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

"  You  know  it !  "  squeaked  Sacks,  with  a  ponderous  nod 
of  his  bullet-shaped  head;  and  ducking  his  ash-grizzled  face 
into  the  pit,  much  as  a  startled  prairie  dog  dodges  into  its 
burrow,  the  intermittent  upheaval  of  ashes  from  the  pit  was 
resumed. 

"  Why  will  he?  "  persisted  the  voice  of  the  first  speaker, 
disregarding  the  unexpected  contribution,  and  again  fixing 
his  glance  upon  Dodson,  while  a  tolerant  chuckle  went  round 
and  subsided. 

"Why  will  he?"  repeated  Dodson,  scornfully.  "Be- 
cause he  ain't  the  first  of  that  dude  kind  that  ever  started  in, 
expecting  that  he  was  going  to  knock  hide  and  hot  tamales 
off  of  the  railroad  business ;  nor  he  won't  be  the  last  to  get 
fooled  up  a  whole  lot,  'cording  to  my  notion. 

"  I  can't  stand  to  have  around  me  a  four-eyed  cuss,  no- 
how, 'less  he  's  fair  old  enough  to  need  windows  to  let  in 
ideas,  like  Pap  Enderby  here. 

"  I  want  to  see  back  of  a  man's  gauge  lights,  and  have  a 
show  to  figure  out  what  pressure  he  's  carrying,  when  he  's 
capering  around  me  on  an  engine." 

It  was  a  rather  large  morning  gathering,  and  an  over- 
flow of  men  from  the  bench  under  the  tank  squatted  com- 
placently upon  their  heels,  in  a  comfortable  half-circle  before 
it,  discussing,  chiefly,  the  sudden  rush  of  traffic  which  had 
called  out  every  available  man,  and  was  also  working  some  on 
the  line,  at  the  moment,  who  should  have  been  in  and  snugly 
asleep  many  hours  ago.  So,  the  currents  of  the  great,  earnest 
game  were  running  swift  and  strong,  although,  to  the  casual 
onlooker,  this  would  have  been  undetected  upon  the  com- 
monplace surface  of  the  placid  little  human  eddy,  at  the 
roundhouse  tank. 

The  early  sun  was  smiling  down  upon  the  face  of  the 

[70] 


THE       FOUR -EYED       CUSS 

rugged  country,  roundabout  the  village,  as  it  usually  did 
smile,  in  compensation  for  other  needs  of  that  barren  high- 
land, and  the  drops  of  alkali  water,  dripping  from  the  tank, 
sparkled  like  crystals,  as  they  broke  and  spattered  ceaselessly 
upon  the  white-pebbled  ground,  just  clear  of  the  judgment 
seat. 

Seen  in  the  heart  of  that  wilderness  of  dusty  gray  bar- 
rens, the  sparkling  drops  of  water  were  as  deceptive  in  ap- 
pearance as  Sacks,  of  the  ashpit,  although  quite  in  the 
reverse  order.  That  is  to  say,  they  looked  much  better  than 
they  felt,  as  those  had  cause  to  know  who,  at  one  time  or 
other,  had  yielded  to  the  temptation  to  drink  of  them,  when 
the  engine  cask  ran  dry. 

Everybody  in  the  group  seemed  slept  out  and  peaceably 
disposed,  except  Dodson,  whose  big  wholesome  body  usu- 
ally stood  for  as  much  of  even-tempered  endurance  as  was 
possible  for  the  best  of  them. 

The  sorry  fact  was  that  he,  just  in  from  a  soul-searching 
freight  run  of  eighteen  hours  through  the  mountains,  which 
had  included  all  of  the  night  hours,  had  renewed  his  strength 
with  a  liberal  measure  of  hot  coffee  from  the  ever  ready 
urn  at  the  restaurant,  eaten  the  hearty  breakfast  that  was 
worthy  of  his  big,  healthy,  tired  body,  and  started  for  bed, 
when  he  was  overtaken  by  the  caller  and  turned  back  to  swell 
the  waiting  group  at  the  roundhouse,  all  of  whom  were 
booked  for  early  leaving. 

Dodson  had  been  caught  for  an  extra,  after  his  long- 
drawn  night  run,  while  just  in  the  act  of  relaxing  for  rest. 
That,  of  course,  is  a  combination  of  circumstances  well  cal- 
culated to  tip  a  tired  man's  tongue  with  venom;  and  when 
he  learned  that  he  had  drawn,  for  the  extra  run,  the  engine 
upon  which  young  Harper  was  experimenting,  with  a  "  dog- 

[71] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

house "  obstructing  the  view  over  the  right  cylinder,  and 
other  parts  of  the  engine  strung  up  with  more  of  the  ap- 
paratus which  was  locally  known  as  "  the  trotting  harness," 
he  allowed  himself  to  express  some  uncomplimentary  opinions. 

In  short,  crisp  sentences  he  had  paid  his  respects  to  the 
"  thimble-rigging-outfit,"  while  Harper  approached,  and  had 
foretold  disaster  and  defeat  for  Harper  and  his  operations; 
all  of  which  spicy  recital,  ceasing  with  Harper's  arrival  at 
the  bench,  had  brought  out,  when  he  departed,  the  slow- 
spoken  challenge  of :  "  Why  will  he  ?  " 

"  Little  hard  on  the  stranger,  ain't  you,  Dodson  ?  "  said 
Pap  Enderby,  peering  up  over  the  top  of  his  steel-rimmed 
glasses,  when  Dodson's  explosive  speech  ceased. 

They  all  knew  about  how  it  had  fared  with  Dodson  through 
the  long  night.  Not  one  of  them  but  knew  the  feeling  of 
having  his  face  set  like  an  unyielding  mask,  and  his  cap 
clutching  the  circle  of  his  head  with  a  grip  like  that  of  a 
steel  helmet,  all  for  the  want  of  sleep,  and  they  were  men- 
tally making  large  allowances  for  Dodson's  mood. 

Yet  they  had  been  taking  a  big  interest  in  Harper's 
operations,  as  the  engine  had  fallen  to  one  and  another  of 
them,  from  day  to  day,  on  the  test  runs.  Then,  too,  Enderby 
had  seen  many  men  and  many  things  in  his  long  graduation 
from  the  engine  deck  and  the  fire-door,  to  the  throttle  side 
of  the  picked  runs,  which  he  was  ably  holding  in  spite  of  his 
glasses,  as  a  good  man  was  sometimes  allowed  to  do.  He 
was,  therefore,  inclined  to  look  calmly  upon  new  men  and 
new  doings,  even  though  the  men  might  wear  gold-rimmed 
glasses  upon  occasion. 

"  A  little  hard  for  the  stranger,  I  should  say,"  he  re- 
peated. 

"  Give  him  a  show  for  his  white-alley,  same  as  we  all  had 

[72] 


THE       FOUR-EYED       CUSS 

to  have  when  we  were  starting  in,"  puffed  fat  and  chubby 
Muller  of  the  mail  run  east,  without  looking  up  from  the 
pine  sliver  which  he  was  whittling  into  nothing  in  particular. 

"  Yes.  Give  the  man  a  show.  He  's  not  so  bad,"  added 
two  or  three  others. 

"  That 's  all  right  about'  the  show,"  snapped  Dodson, 
whose  weary  fur  could  not,  just  then,  be  rubbed  any  way  but 
the  wrong  way.  "  He  '11  get  what 's  coming  to  him  from  me, 
all  square  enough,  and  no  more.  And  there  '11  be  plenty  of 
railroading  left,  in  the  same  old  way,  long  enough  after  he  's 
done  poking  that  young  neb  of  his  'n  into  other  people's  busi- 
ness; same  as  there  was  before  he  come.  I  say  I  don't  like 
the  four-eyed  breed,  whatever !  " 

Meanwhile  Harper,  alert  and  full  of  a  big  liking  for  his 
work  and  for  his  new-found  fellow  workers,  tingling  with  the 
sting  of  the  clear  mountain  air,  mentally  doffing  his  cap  to  the 
near,  towering  peaks  of  the  rim-rock,  had  passed  on,  out  of 
sight  and  hearing,  around  the  outer  circle  of  the  roundhouse, 
and  was  seated  in  the  shop  office,  mapping  out  his  work  for  the 
run  which  was  about  to  begin. 

He  was  happily  unaware  that  his  brief  stop  at  the  tank 
caucus  had  left  a  tang  of  bitterness,  where  all  looked  bright 
and  heartening  through  his  offending  glasses,  not  excepting 
Dodson,  whose  grimy,  upstanding  figure  he  had  unobtrusively 
noted  and  admired. 

Harper  was  a  stalwart,  self-contained  young  giant,  so 
well  made  that  he  hardly  showed  his  real  proportions.  His 
very  bright,  but  over-used  eyes,  which  patience  and  glasses 
were  to  fully  restore,  were  his  only  apparent  physical  defect, 
and  when  his  little  mother,  years  before  his  coming  to  the 
mountains,  had,  with  all  of  the  faith  of  a  mother  in  the 
destiny  of  her  son,  laid  upon  him  the  duty  of  making  of 

[73] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

himself  a  doctor  or  a  preacher,  he  had  taken  the  matter  quite 
seriously. 

However,  after  a  period  of  delving  into  the  paths  and  by- 
paths of  creeds,  from  Confucian  to  Phallic,  from  pagan  to 
Nazarene,  and  a  whimsical  scrutiny  of  his  rugged  young 
self,  he  had  found  himself  very  far  afield  in  the  countless 
blind  leads  and  ramifications  of  the  isms  and  ologies,  and 
concluded  that  he  was  on  the  wrong  trail,  for  a  life-work. 

He  gained  his  mother's  reluctant  consent  to  a  special  course 
in  engineering  for  the  remainder  of  his  college  work,  upon 
his  specious  plea  that,  since  more  men,  proportionately, 
find  their  way  from  railroad  work  into  the  tender  hands  of 
doctors  and  preachers,  than  from  any  other  worldly  pur- 
suit, he  might  be  departing  but  slightly  from  her  original 
desire,  by  becoming  a  mechanical  engineer.  And,  having 
gained  his  point  and  finished  his  course,  he  set  his  face 
sturdily,  through  many  trials,  toward  the  mountains. 

When  he  returned  to  the  roundhouse,  upon  the  morning 
in  question,  the  group  at  the  tank  had  scattered,  the  yards 
were  throbbing  with  the  orderly  confusion  of  departing 
trains,  and  Dodson,  quietly  resentful  in  the  throes  of  keep- 
ing awake,  was  mounted  in  the  cab  and  ready  to  go  down  to 
the  train. 

Harper  had  progressed  far  enough  in  the  understanding 
of  human  nature  to  know  when  to  let  a  man  alone,  and 
with  his  helper  mounted  in  the  engine  cab  and  himself  in 
the  wind  shelter  at  the  cylinder,  the  engine  joined  with  its 
train  and  launched  out,  up  the  long  grade  to  the  crest,  and 
toward  Balceta,  with  little  said. 

For  some  days,  twining  spirals  of  thin,  blue  smoke  had 
been  rising  in  the  golden  sunlight  and  merging  into  the 
turquoise  of  the  cloudless  sky,  from  the  crags  that  stood 

[74] 


THE       FOUR-EYED       CUSS 

guard  around  sleepy  little  Villa  Rica,  nestling  at  the  bottom 
of  her  vast,  ancient  crater. 

At  night,  never  waning,  watch-fires  brilliantly  beaded  the 
encircling  crags,  rivalling,  in  the  clear,  dry  air,  the  bril- 
liance and  seeming  nearness  of  the  big,  bright  stars  that 
shone  as  calmly  as  when,  ages  ago,  they  had  looked  down 
upon  stranger  and  more  tragic  deeds  than  even  these  things 
portended. 

And,  while  the  smokes  of  incense  ascended  from  the  vast 
stone  brattice-work  of  natural  turrets  and  battlements  of 
the  distant  Sacromonte,  whose  ragged  crest  bristled,  beyond 
the  rim-rock,  with  many  a  rough-hewn  cross,  and  the  lesser 
peaks,  within  a  day's  march  of  Villa  Rica,  sent  up  their 
smokes  by  day  and  kept  their  brilliant  watch  by  night,  old 
men,  deep  in  the  shadowy  seclusion  of  the  adobe  houses,  were 
reciting  anew  the  legends  of  a  world-old  ritual  and  firing 
the  zeal  of  listening  young  men,  in  advance  of  the  glories 
of  self-abasement  which  were  soon  to  follow. 

Abroad  in  the  streets  and  upon  the  dizzy  mountain  trails, 
dark  eyes,  in  swarthy  faces,  had  lost  their  apathetic  calm  and 
gleamed  with  the  smouldering  fires  of  suppressed  excitement. 
Everywhere,  it  was  apparent  that  something  of  surpassing 
interest  was  animating  the  traditional  owners  of  the  crater 
and  the  surrounding  barrens. 

The  rough  forked  sticks,  which,  despite  the  advance  of 
centuries  elsewhere,  there  served  as  primitive  ploughs,  stood 
idle  and  neglected  in  their  shallow  furrows,  and  the  great 
circles  of  hard-trodden  clay,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  villages, 
were  deserted  of  the  dusky  people  who,  in  season  and  out  of 
season,  trod  out  their  scanty  stores  of  grain  upon  the  naked 
earth,  and  winnowed  it  by  handfuls  in  the  vagrant  winds. 

Over  it  all,  by  night  and  by  day,  was  the  soft  enticement 

[75] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

of  springtime  in  the  High  Country,  tempering  the  austere 
silence  of  the  Villa  Rica  Range ;  softening  the  vital,  electric 
thrill  of  life,  which  is  its  most  exquisite  and  priceless  posses- 
sion. The  time  of  the  Pewtentes  was  at  hand. 

While  his  engine  labored  on,  ploddingly,  up  the  long 
grades,  or  rushed,  under  watchful  restraint,  down  the  steep 
and  winding  descents  of  the  division,  these  daily  manifesta- 
tions were  to  Dodson's  weary  eyes  little  more  than  the  yearly 
recurrence  of  an  added  burden  of  objects  that  must  be 
quickly  and  unerringly  placed,  and  given  a  value,  as  menaces 
in  the  landscape  ahead  of  the  engine. 

But,  to  Harper,  with  his  half-forgotten  lore  of  creeds,  it 
was  as  the  presentment  of  a  living  page  from  the  secret  book 
of  a  race  that  was  well-nigh  spent;  rich  in  the  story  of  the 
lives  of  a  strange  people.  He  mentally  resolved  to  see  some- 
thing of  it  at  closer  range,  but,  well  knowing  the  difficulties 
and  dangers  of  the  proceeding,  he  little  dreamed  how  close  he 
was  to  its  fullest  realization. 

For  six  endless  hours,  Dodson  dragged  the  heavily  loaded 
stock  extra  over  the  savage  dips  and  spurs  of  the  divide,  and, 
with  his  conductor,  picked  the  way  safely  among  regular 
trains.  His  agony  of  drowsiness  had  passed  into  the  suc- 
ceeding stage  of  a  wakefulness  and  mental  alertness  that 
stirred  his  every  sense  to  painful  activity ;  which  put  the 
dulled  longing  for  sleep  far  away,  as  a  hazy  theory  of  life, 
rather  than  as  one  of  its  most  vital  needs. 

Harper  was  soon  laden  with  data  from  the  instruments, 
and  had  found  time  to  observe  the  straggling  line  of  dusky 
foot-passengers,  that  set,  with  the  train,  toward  the  Sacro- 
monte;  and  passing  that,  came  trailing  from  opposite  ways 
to  the  Sacred  Mountain. 

Solemn  of  face  and  furtive-eyed,  they  passed  silently  on 

[76] 


THE       FOUR-EYED       CUSS 

their  way,  and  Harper,  in  short  opportunities  for  observing 
them  from  his  perch  upon  the  careening  cylinder,  wondered 
whether  he  could  make  the  return  trip  in  time  to  see  the 
climax,  which,  he  reasoned,  could  not  be  very  far  removed. 

Thus  the  engine  finally  drew  the  trailing  loads  of  moan- 
ing, thirst-parched  cattle  half  up  through  the  deep  gorge 
which  opened,  at  its  farther  end,  down  to  Balceta  and  rest, 
and  sleep. 

The  weary  crew  stopped  under  the  red  board  of  lonely 
little  El  Soledad  station,  which  kept  guard  in  a  brief  widen- 
ing of  the  pass,  dnd  controlled  the  two  curving  side  tracks 
that  skirted  the  high  walls  of  the  canyon  and  hemmed  the 
station  in,  at  either  side.  The  turn-table  and  telegraph  were 
the  only  warrants  for  the  existence  of  El  Soledad,  and  when 
men  found  the  red  turned  against  them  there  and  stopped, 
they  usually  took  on  trouble  in  heroic  doses. 

There  fell  the  blow  that,  with  a  few  terse  lines  of  orders, 
stretched  the  span  of  Dodson's  twenty-four-hour  vigil  to 
more  than  thirty  hours  without  sleep,  and  definitely  changed 
his  manful  endurance  to  slow  torture  and  exquisite  though 
unintentional  punishment. 

"  Turn  at  El  Soledad,  and  run  as  extra  to  Sacromonte,  and 
there  unload  cattle.  High  bridge,  Number  Ninety-one,  El 
Soledad  and  Balceta,  burned  out." 

That  was  all.  There  was  no  help  for  it.  Now  distant  Sac- 
romonte siding  had  the  only  corral  that  would  answer  the 
need,  upon  the  division. 

Dodson's  eyes  gleamed  like  live  coals  in  the  black  caverns 
of  his  grimy  but  ashen  face,  as  he  read.  His  lips  curled  back 
from  his  teeth,  in  a  wolfish  grin,  which  ordinarily  would  have 
been  a  smile,  and,  eating  in  silence  the  scant  lunch  which  the 
operator's  small  larder  afforded,  they  turned  the  engine, 

[77] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

switched  the   caboose   to   the   other  end  of  the   train,   and 
started  upon  the  long  return  trip. 

The  shades  of  night  were  fast  settling  in  the  lonely,  rock- 
strewn  valley  of  the  Sacromonte,  when  the  engine  dragged 
over  the  last  rise  and  began  dropping  down  toward  the  blind 
siding  and  the  corral,  which,  with  its  native  keeper,  commonly 
redeemed  the  place  from  utter  solitude  in  that  primitive 
wilderness. 

Upon  the  mountain's  top,  steep  and  high  beyond  the 
corral,  the  fires  were  gleaming  brightly ;  and  from  below, 
above,  around,  came  countless  wailing  voices  of  unseen  men, 
doling  forth,  shrieking,  crying  out  incoherently,  the  un- 
speakable agonies  of  long-gone  generations  of  men,  whose 
traditions  they  were  now  perpetuating. 

When  the  engine  had  glided  half  down  the  steep  descent, 
the  watchful  eyes  of  Harper,  who  stood  transfixed  in  his 
box  at  the  front,  by  the  horror  of  sounds  that  welled  up 
from  below  made  out  the  coming  of  a  horde  of  dusky  shad- 
ows in  the  shallow  defile  that  led  down  from  the  mountain, 
among  the  rocks;  and  he  saw,  before  Dodson  from  his  place 
in  the  cab  could  do  so,  that  the  serpent-like  column  was 
heading  to  cross  the  track  near  the  corral. 

Turning,  he  waved  to  Dodson  what  he  intended  for  a  stop 
signal.  But  Dodson  either  did  not  understand  or  did  not 
wish  to  and  the  engine  rolled  steadily  down  with  its  train, 
toward  the  siding  and  the  corral.  And  then  the  end  came 
quickly. 

From  the  ragged  mouth  of  the  rocky  gully  which  opened 
upon  the  right  of  way,  poured  forth  a  shrieking,  writhing  mob 
of  well-nigh  naked  men,  whose  brown  bodies  were  encrusted 
and  matted  with  accumulated  blood  of  their  self-inflicted 
tortures. 

[78] 


THE       FOUR-EYED       CUSS 

With  jagged  clubs  and  withes  of  piercing  cactus,  they 
beat  their  bared  bodies,  falling  upon  themselves  and  upon  each 
other  with  these  weapons,  and  with  knotted  strands  of  raw- 
hide, in  a  frenzy  of  joyous  suffering  that  echoed  from  every 
jutting  crag  and  fell  back  into  the  valley  in  shuddering 
waves  of  sound. 

Too  late,  Dodson  saw  the  cause  of  Harper's  clumsy  sig- 
nal, as  the  head  of  the  wild  procession  leaped  out  of  the 
mouth  of  the  defile,  and  was  quickly  followed  by  a  cluster 
of  flaring  torches,  at  the  centre  of  which  rose  the  swaying 
figure  of  a  young  man,  borne  fainting,  but  exalted,  upon  a 
rough  timber  cross,  from  the  scene  of  his  voluntary  re-enact- 
ment of  the  greatest  of  all  tragedies. 

The  frightful  din  of  mingled  lamentation,  rejoicing,  and 
shrieks  of  pain  was  drowned  for  a  moment  in  the  booming, 
stammering  warning  which  Dodson  drew  from  the  whistle, 
while  the  brakes  were  tightening  down  yet  harder  and  the  dry 
sand  was  ground  to  powder  under  the  driving-wheels.  But 
the  oncoming  column  of  revellers  paid  no  heed,  except  to 
key  their  revellings  the  higher  in  a  fierce  defiance. 

Year  after  year,  they  had  carried  out  their  gruesome  pro- 
gramme at  this  forsaken  spot,  with  no  interruption  from  the 
secretly  despised  white  men.  There  must  be  no  interruption 
now,  at  the  successful  climax  of  their  long-suffering  prep- 
arations. Against  such  intrusion  stood  secret,  solemn 
tradition,  race  hatred,  superstition;  and  the  white  men,  who 
ordinarily  ruled  the  tracks  without  question,  were  now  as 
nothing  to  the  men  whose  fathers,  and  their  fathers'  fathers, 
knew  these  secret  places  when  the  white  man  was  unknown 
there.  The  yelling  horde  pressed  on. 

When  the  collision  was  inevitable,  Dodson  arose,  involun- 
tarily, from  his  seat-box,  and  shouted  fiercely  to  Harper  to 

[79] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

come  out  of  the  flimsy  box  upon  the  cylinder.  But  Harper 
was  as  a  man  turned  to  stone,  as  he  stared  at  the  writhing, 
yelling  riot  that,  to  his  mind,  had  suddenly  sprung  across 
the  gap  from  past  and  gone  centuries. 

The  engine  pilot  ploughed  slowly  into  the  midst  of  the  wild 
melee  as  the  leaders  reached  the  centre  of  the  track,  and,  in 
the  muffled  impact  that  followed,  the  cross,  with  its  insensible 
burden,  swayed  and  toppled  suddenly  and  cast  the  thong- 
bound,  bloody  victim  down  upon  Harper's  wind  shelter,  with 
a  crash  that  shivered  the  box  to  splinters  and  sent  Harper 
reeling  over  the  side  to  the  dirt-ballasted  bank  of  the  track. 

Instantly,  the  mob  of  frenzied  men  fell  upon  him  as  he 
struggled  to  his  feet,  and  the  unequal  battle  was  on.  The 
timber  cross  and  its  burden  slipped  slowly  to  the  ground  and 
fell  clear  of  the  track  as  the  engine  came  to  a  halt. 

Once,  twice,  Dodson's  hand  moved  swiftly  in  the  gloom 
of  the  engine  cab,  while  Harper  was  struggling  against  the 
fearful  odds  for  a  footing  in  the  fight,  and  then  a  double 
roar  broke  forth  from  the  engine,  drowning  the  frenzied 
sounds  which  arose  from  below. 

First  to  right  and  then  to  left,  alternately,  a  slug  of  mud 
and  hot  water  shot  forth  from  the  blow-off  cocks  in  the  leg 
of  the  boiler,  cutting  wide  swaths  of  darkness  among  the 
flaring  torches  and,  with  each  fierce  blast,  scattering  the 
writhing  crowd  away  from  Harper's  desperate  stand,  under  a 
dense  blanket  of  searching  vapor. 

When,  a  few  moments  later,  the  bellowing,  stuttering  up- 
roar ceased,  there  was  a  silence  over  all  the  narrow  valley 
and  upon  the  mountain,  more  terrible  in  its  import  than  the 
blood-chilling  cries  which  had  greeted  the  coming  of  the  train 
in  the  beginning. 

[80] 


THE       FOUR-EYED       CUSS 

Harper  staggered  from  the  edge  of  the  cloud  of  vapor 
that  was  lifting  from  around  the  engine  and  ran  against 
Dodson,  who  was  leaping  toward  him  with  the  coal-pick  from 
the  tender  poised  dangerously  in  his  heavy,  uplifted  hand. 

Probably  no  man  is  entirely  sane  after  he  has  been  awake 
thirty  hours  continuously,  and  Dodson  was  about  to  demon- 
strate the  fact,  by  going  into  battle  single-handed  against 
unknown  numbers  of  the  routed  revellers,  in  the  outlying 
darkness. 

There  was  no  present  need,  however,  as  Harper  breath- 
lessly assured  him,  while  he  deftly  pinioned  the  uplifted  arm 
and  turned  Dodson  back,  quickly,  toward  the  engine. 

And  then  the  wildest  vagary  of  that  sudden,  waking  night- 
mare began  to  unfold  before  them  I 

Out  of  the  fast-thickening  shadows  which  were  settling 
upon  the  gruesome  scene  crept  a  meek  and  grovelling  figure 
of  a  man,  from  the  scattered  legions.  Very  guardedly,  at 
first,  it  wormed  toward  them  and,  when  no  menace  met  it, 
straightened  up  into  the  person  of  the  tall  leader  of  the 
revellers. 

"  You,  Camargo ! "  exclaimed  Dodson,  doubtingly,  as  the 
figure  approached  closer  and  thrust  out  a  gaunt  hand  from 
its  enveloping  blanket.  For  this  was  a  kind  of  Camargo 
that  no  railroad  man  had  ever  guessed:  the  secret,  traditional 
leader  of  his  fast-thinning  race. 

"  Si,  senor,"  came  the  eager  but  soft  response  of  the  one- 
time premier  monte  gambler  of  Villa  Rica. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  this  wild-eyed  business?"  de- 
manded Dodson,  fiercely. 

It  was  a  mistake,  all  a  mistake,  urged  the  wily  Camargo, 
ever  softly.  Would  the  senor  tarry  with  them  for  a  little 

[81] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

space;  would  he  not  forgive?  It  was  the  error  of  the  young 
men.  It  should  all  be  well. 

And  gaining  courage  from  the  prolonged  parleying  of 
their  leader,  the  shadowy  hosts  began  to  re-assemble,  silently 
and  sullenly,  in  the  background,  until  the  rocks  were  dotted 
with  them  and  the  paths  from  the  Sacred  Mountain  became 
alive  in  the  darkness,  with  cautious,  moving  figures. 

Turning  to  look  about  them,  Harper  and  Dodson  saw  that 
the  cross  and  its  tenant  had  disappeared  and  the  wavering 
flames  of  a  stray  torch  or  two  revealed  no  trace  of  the  recent 
upheaval. 

The  long  line  of  cattle  cars  trailed  dimly  out  into  the 
night,  behind  the  now  silent  engine,  and  the  parched  beasts, 
made  frantic  by  their  thirst  and  the  recent  riot  of  sounds, 
lolled  their  swollen  tongues  through  the  imprisoning  bars, 
yearning  madly  for  water,  as  the  fresh  odor  and  the  gurgle 
of  the  little  river  swept  up  to  them  across  the  sloping  bench 
that  lay  between  the  river  and  the  tracks. 

Would  the  guests  tarry?  urged  the  soft  voice  of  Camargo, 
insensibly  edging  them  along  by  the  train  until  they  stood 
beside  a  rectangular  block  of  basalt,  slightly  rounded  on  its 
top,  which  rose  somewhat  above  the  level  of  the  earth  by 
the  track.  Now  that  the  ceremonies  were  over,  it  should 
become  a  fiesta,  in  honor  of  the  coming  of  their  brothers. 

Camargo's  re-lighted  torch,  meanwhile,  had  been  slowly 
wavering  above  his  head,  from  east  to  west,  from  north  to 
south,  and  the  dusky,  silent  groups  were  joining  up  and 
pressing  in  slowly  toward  Harper  and  Dodson,  where  they 
stood  with  the  train  crew,  who  had  rallied  to  the  front. 

Then,  suddenly,  the  fires  flared  up  fiercely  upon  the  top  of 
Sacromonte,  and  there  came  the  low,  insistent  throbbing  of 
a  sound  no  white  man  in  Villa  Rica  had  ever  heard:  the 

[82] 


Dodson,  it  means  blood!     Steady  now,  but  back!" 


THE       FOUR-EYED      CUSS 

heavy  pulsing  of  a  low-pitched  drum,  the  sounds  of  which 
rose,  alternately,  to  a  deep-voiced  challenge  and  died  away 
to  a  rumbling  murmur,  to  quicken  again  into  a  menacing, 
dulling  roar  which  penetrated  every  cranny  of  the  rocks  and 
set  the  air  of  the  constricted  valley  shuddering. 

At  the  first  note  of  it,  Harper  turned  in  startled  wonder 
toward  the  Sacred  Mountain. 

"  They  seem  to  be  out  to  celebrate  for  us,  all  right 
enough ! "  Dodson  was  saying,  with  a  note  of  surprise  in  his 
voice ;  and  without  knowing  why,  he  clutched  the  handle  of 
the  coal-pick  closer. 

When  Harper  quickly  turned  from  staring  at  the  fire  upon 
the  mountain-top,  his  eyes  were  wide  with  excitement.  He 
grasped  Dodson's  arm  in  a  grip  that  left  its  mark,  saying 
tensely : 

"  Back  to  the  engine !  That  is  the  sound  of  the  olden 
Aztec  war-drum,  from  the  teocalli's  top !  It  is  the  call  to 
war  and  sacrifice.  Dodson,  it  means  blood!  Steady,  now, 
but  back!" 

At  the  first  move,  Camargo  flung  his  torch  hurtling  into 
the  air  and  casting  aside  his  dark,  robe-like  blanket,  stood 
stripped  to  his  breech-clout  and  belt  of  woven  feathers. 
With  a  volley  of  short,  sharp  orders,  in  a  tongue  no  white 
man  knew,  he  and  his  followers  fell  upon  Dodson,  stripped 
him  to  his  shoes,  tore  his  garments  to  ribbons  and  flung 
them  far  from  the  spot.  They  bore  him,  fighting,  down 
upon  the  basalt  rock,  while  a  storm  of  blows  from  cactus 
clubs  and  knotted  thongs  rained  upon  Harper,  struggling 
madly  to  regain  the  fallen  coal-pick ;  and  upon  the  train  crew, 
who  fought  at  his  back,  trying  to  force  their  way  to  the  rock 
and  to  Dodson. 

From  the  middle  of  the  writhing  bunch,  the  centre  of 

[83] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

which  was  Harper,  brown  men  shot  upward  and  out,  bodily, 
and  landed  upon  their  fellows,  until  he  had  cleared  a  space  in 
which  to  stoop  swiftly  and  grasp  the  coveted  pick. 

With  a  resonant  yell  that  had  helped  him  on  to  victory 
on  many  a  hard-fought  athletic  field,  Harper  swung  the 
pick  in  deadly,  widening  circles  about  him,  until  it  crashed 
down  upon  the  head  of  gibbering  Camargo,  who  crouched 
in  incantations  over  the  stretched  and  naked  body  of  Dod- 
son,  with  the  long  blade  of  a  strange-looking  knife  quiver- 
ing above  the  heart  of  the  furious  but  helpless  engineer. 

With  the  fall  of  Camargo  there  came  a  sudden  lull,  in 
which  Dodson  wrenched  himself  free  and  sprang  up  from 
the  rock,  and  the  little  party  backed  hastily  against  the 
train,  in  the  dim  light  of  the  glow  from  the  Sacromonte. 

"  Turn  the  cattle  upon  them,  before  they  rally ! "  rang 
Harper's  voice,  and  in  a  moment  a  car  door,  quickly  fol- 
lowed by  another,  slid  back  upon  the  hangers  and  the  brown 
bodies  of  water-mad  beasts  were  leaping  out  into  the  night 
and  racing  down  the  sloping  bench  to  the  river,  tossing  upon 
their  wide-spreading  horns  all  things  living  that  came  within 
range  of  them. 

Catching  up  the  discarded  blanket  of  Camargo  and  tossing 
it  upon  the  shoulders  of  Dodson,  Harper  led  a  quick  retreat 
to  the  engine.  Once  there,  the  fierce,  stammering  roar  of 
the  blow-off  cocks  again  broke  forth  terrifyingly  upon  the 
valley,  turning  back  the  rallying  hosts  from  the  Sacromonte 
and  making  the  route  complete  and  final. 

Huddled  in  the  blanket  of  Camargo,  Dodson  sat  upon  his 
seat-box  in  the  engine,  listening  to  the  receding  babble  of 
voices  that  came  out  of  the  stillness  following  the  closing 
of  the  blow-offs.  He  stared,  wide-eyed,  from  his  drawn  and 

[84] 


THE       FOUR-EYED       CUSS 

haggard  face  into  the  faces  of  Harper  and  the  others  upon 
the  engine  deck. 

"  What  broke  loose  ?  "  he  said,  presently,  fixing  his  weary 
and  frightened  eyes  upon  Harper.  "  I  can't  make  it  out, 
to  fit  a  deal  like  Camargo's !  " 

"  If  I  were  to  describe  it,"  said  Harper,  very  earnestly, 
"  I  should  call  it  the  neatest  example  of  mental  reversion  to 
primitive  type,  under  great  excitement,  that  any  of  us  is 
likely  to  see. 

"But,  I  have  no  doubt  that,  when  it  is  fully  understood  at 
headquarters,  it  will  be  thought  best  to  put  the  delay  down 
to  an  engine  failure  at  Sacromonte,  and  gather  up  the  few 
stray  cattle  as  quietly  as  possible." 

That,  indeed,  for  various  reasons,  is  exactly  what  was 
done,  after  they  had  trailed  into  Villa  Rica,  later  that  even- 
ing, with  the  empty  cattle  train. 

Dodson,  climbing  stiffly  down  from  the  engine,  hatless, 
with  his  eyes  set  unwinkingly  in  his  shrunken  face,  and  his 
newly  acquired  garment  gathered  closely  about  him,  strode 
into  the  lunch  room  across  the  tracks  from  the  roundhouse. 
He  ate  ravenously  of  everything  he  could  reach,  and  as  long 
as  he  could  keep  awake,  standing. 

'  Then  he  marched  away,  up  Villa  Rica's  one  important 
street,  to  his  home,  minding  not  at  all  the  varied,  hilarious 
greetings  of  comrades,  which  assailed  him  along  the  way, 
and  dropping  down  in  the  folds  of  Camargo's  official  blanket, 
upon  his  unopened  bed,  slept  for  twelve  hours,  before  he 
was  ready  to  report  upon  the  roundhouse  work-book  or  dis- 
cuss the  merits  of  the  doings  at  Sacromonte. 

Clean-shaven,  ruddy-cheeked,  except  for  one  livid  welt 
across  his  face,  and  freshly  clad,  he  was  dictator,  in  the  seat 

[85] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

of  honor  at  the  middle  of  the  bench,  at  the  next  water-tank 
caucus  after  his  reappearance. 

"  No,"  he  had  just  been  saying,  before  Harper  hove  in 
sight,  evidently  headed  for  the  judgment  seat,  where  the  crys- 
tal drops  were  dripping  upon  the  white  pebbles,  as  brightly  as 
though  no  dark  secrets  lingered  in  that  sunny  land.  "  No, 
I  've  got  no  call  to  kick  on  a  man  that  knows  more  about  this 
country  than  I  do. 

"  Any  fellow  that  can  read  the  signs  in  a  new  game,  the 
way  that  young  fellow  did;  pick  the  second  when  a  fight  is 
due;  win  it,  and  top  it  with  a  cavalry  charge  by  a  load  of 
Texas  long-horns;  all,  when  you  need  it  as  bad  as  I  did,  is 
worth  keeping  acquainted  with,  good  and  plenty. 

"  And  never  even  broke  them  glasses  of  his  'n !  Four-eyed 
people  's  all  right  with  me ;  and  they  can  ride  my  engine  a 
whole  lot,  if  they  want  to.  Have  a  seat,  pardner?  "  he  con- 
cluded, moving  along  a  little  space  upon  the  bench,  as  Harper 
stepped  into  the  circle  of  friendly  faces,  where  Pap  Enderby 
smiled  benignly  upon  them  all,  and  chubby  little  Muller  was 
whittling  placidly. 

"  That 's  right ! "  rumbled  Muller,  not  taking  the  trouble 
to  lift  his  fat  chin,  as  Harper  sat  down.  "  Give  the  stran- 
ger a  show ! " 

And  Harper,  of  course,  may  not  have  understood,  quite 
fully,  how  much  Muller  had  thus  spoken ;  although  the 
chance  that  he  did  not  took  nothing  from  the  general  satis- 
faction that  pervaded  the  morning  caucus. 


[86] 


CHAPTER  VI 
DINWIDDY'S  DEBT 

MC  PELTRIE  set  his  valve-oil  can  upon  the  ground, 
as  carefully  as  though  it  contained  the  elixir  of  life. 
He  lowered  the  black-oil  can  with  his  other  hand,  until  it 
rested  beside  the  valve  oil.  He  shifted  a  liberal-sized  bunch 
of  white  cotton  waste  from  under  his  arm  to  the  much  whit- 
tled and  oil-polished  plank  seat  that  spans  the  gap  between 
the  upright  supports  of  the  roundhouse  water  tank, —  the 
far-famed  judgment  seat  of  out-going  engine  crews,  who 
may  have  a  little  time  to  caucus  upon  topics  of  present 
interest. 

Mark  Enderby  was  holding  the  bench  in  solitary  and  un- 
pretentious glory.  His  close-cropped  gray  hair  glinted  in 
the  afternoon  sunshine  like  frosted  silver,  and  his  keen,  half- 
closed  eyes  were  sparkling  in  a  close  study  of  the  engine 
that  was  clucking  her  wheels  across  the  turn-table  and  sending 
up  a  gentle  purring  from  the  blower  drawing  at  her  fire. 

McPeltrie  sat  down  on  the  end  of  the  bench  and,  with  his 
liberally  designed  feet,  corralled  the  oil  cans,  as  though  he 
half  feared  that  they  might  escape;  and,  since  Dinwiddy's 
system  of  strict  accounting  for  oil  allowances  had  been  in 
force,  filled  oil  cans  had,  indeed,  been  known  to  disappear, 
although  probably  not  just  in  the  way  that  McPeltrie's 
attitude  seemed  to  anticipate  —  by  flying. 

His  strong  young  jaw  was  set  rather  aggressively  and  his 

[87] 


MARK     ENDERBY :     ENGINEER 

gray-blue  eyes  glinted  with  something  approaching  an  un- 
spoken challenge  to  battle,  but  he  said  nothing,  until  Enderby 
had  finished  his  admiring  look  at  the  new  engine  and  turned 
toward  him  with  a  satisfied  smile. 

"  Well,  Mack ! "  said  the  old  man  cheerily.  "  All  ready 
for  another  gilt-edged  trip  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  McPeltrie,  with  an  injured  air.  "You 
can't  do  anything  with  old  Halpin,  though.  I  'm  pounded 
to  a  fare-ye-well  about  this  oil  business,  and  I  guess  you  get 
your  packing  set  out  plenty,  about  it. 

"  See  the  last  report?  We  are  half-way  down  the  list, 
again. 

"  I  just  met  Dinwiddy  in  the  roundhouse  and  I  told  him, 
'  Why  don't  you  get  another  porcupine  and  put  in  the  oil 
house,  with  Halpin  ?  ' : 

"  Did  n't  you  know  any  better?  "  asked  Enderby,  mildly. 

"  Eh?  "  said  McPeltrie,  in  some  surprise. 

"What  did  Dinwiddy  say?"  questioned  Enderby,  gently 
ignoring  the  younger  man's  question. 

"  He  said :  *  You  have  to  have  porcupines,  if  you  need 
to  raise  quills,'  and  walked  away,  kind  of  slow,  with  his 
head  down,  and  left  me  standing  there  with  my  oil  cans  in 
my  hands. 

"  What 's  the  use  of  a  master  mechanic  talking  parables, 
like  that,  when  a  man  's  trying  to  talk  business  with  him, 
huh?  "  blurted  McPeltrie. 

"  Did  n't  you  get  what  was  coming  to  us  on  the  oil  house 
tickets  ?  "  queried  Enderby,  still  very  gently. 

"  Y-e-s,"  the  young  man  admitted,  and  a  dull  flush  of 
color  ran  up  into  his  face.  "  Got  what  was  coming  to  us,  but 
it  don't  last  long  enough,  and  we  are  both  getting  hammered, 
till  I  'm  sick  of  hearing  oil." 

[88] 


D    I    N    W    I    D    D    Y        S       DEBT 

Mark  looked  at  him  a  moment,  with  eyes  that  seemed  to 
see  into  and  beyond  his  earnest  face,  and,  glancing  to  where 
the  engine  had  come  to  rest  alongside  the  coal  chutes,  noted 
the  approach  of  Manuel,  the  Mexican  caller,  on  his  way  over 
from  the  despatcher's  office. 

Doubled  down  comfortably,  with  his  arms  extended  along 
his  thighs,  and  fingers  interlaced,  he  idly  assembled  with  the 
toe  of  his  shoe  little  clusters  of  white  pebbles  that  covered 
the  ground,  and  said  no  more  until  the  caller  came  abreast  of 
the  judgment  seat. 

"  How  is  she,  Manuel  ?  "  he  then  asked,  without  looking 
up. 

"  Late  thirty  minutes.  She  will  make  up  five,  they  fig- 
ure," replied  the  caller,  and  disappeared,  without  halting, 
through  the  open  roundhouse  door. 

"  Mack,"  said  Enderby,  straightening  up  until  the  fire- 
man was  no  longer  left  to  study  the  oil-glazed  top  of  the 
old  man's  cap,  "  that  notch  in  the  middle  of  Dinwiddy's 
chin  must  have  showed  up  pretty  white  and  plain,  when  he 
told  you  how  about  porcupines,  did  n't  it?  " 

"  It  always  does,  when  he  shuts  his  jaw  that  way,"  said 
McPeltrie.  "I  was  just  thinking  about  it;  looked  like  a 
good  time  to  leave,  then,  so  I  did  n't  follow  it  up  none.  He  's 
boss,  when  you  get  right  down  to  it." 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  you  about  that,  sooner,"  said  En- 
derby, regretfully. 

"  Oh,  I  know  he  's  boss  all  right  — " 

"  No ;  about  the  notch  in  his  chin,"  said  the  old  man, 
gravely.  "  I  gave  him  that." 

"  Yes,  you  did !  "  laughed  the  fireman,  gayly.  "  Quit 
fooling." 

"  Providing  she  don't  make  up  more  than  five  minutes  of 

[89] 


MARK     ENDERBY  :     ENGINEER 

that  thirty,  I  reckon  I  can  tell  you  about  it  now,  before  we 
have  to  back  down  on  her,"  came  Mark's  answer,  with  no 
sign  of  resentment  at  the  fireman's  doubt.  "  And  I  think 
you  better  know.  -1 

"  Talking  about  Halpin.  You  can't  coax  him  into  giving 
a  gallon  of  valve  oil  on  a  three-pint  ticket,  I  know.  Nor 
he  won't  deal  out  a  seat-boxful  of  white  waste  on  a  one-pound 
order.  Yet  he  's  not  a  bad  kind,  if  you  play  fair  with  him. 
Halpin  's  square  enough ;  always  was,  while  I  knew  him/ 

"  That  stiff  leg  of  his  — " 

"  Cork,  ain't  it?  "  interrupted  the  fireman. 

"  No ;  stiff  knee  and  ankle,"  insisted  Enderby,  steadily. 

"  It 's  likely  the  thump  of  that  foot,  as  he  walks  on 
the  iron  grating  around  the  orl  pumps,  as  much  as  his  solemn 
old  face  and  his  long  white  hair  —  black  as  a  raven's  wing 
when  I  first  knew  him  —  that  gives  the  air  of  putting  on 
dog,  seeming  a  little  too  heavy  for  the  job,  like  you  says  to 
Dinwiddy. v 

"  That 's  why  I  'm  saying  to  you,  if  you  want  to  get  an 
idea  of  what  Halpin  used  to  be  like,  you  must  happen  into 
the  oil  house  some  time  when  Dinwiddy  is  there  talking  with 
him. 

"  When  this  road  was  reaching  out  past  Villa  Rica,  here, 
toward  Balceta,  I  was  a  young  fellow,  just  fairly  good  at 
firing,  like  you  be ;  but,  likely,  some  older. 

"  That 's  some  twenty  to  twenty-seven  years  ago ;  I  can't 
tell  exactly,  without  counting  back  too  much,  but  when  the 
road  made  its  closest  swing  toward  the  Tonto  Basin,  I  was 
on  the  construction  train,  firing. 

"  Cochise  and  his  band  of  Apache  fiends  were  running 
wild  in  New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  and  crossing  over  the  bor- 

[90] 


DINWIDDY        S       DEBT 

der  into  Mexico,  when  they  needed,  bad,  to  get  away  for  a 
time. 

"  A  man  had  no  business  out  here  then  unless  he  could 
handle  a  gun  as  well  as  a  spike-mall  or  a  train.  We  were 
all  fit  enough,  I  dare  say,  on  such  needs. 

"  One  morning,  just  after  sun-up,  we  were  at  the  eating 
shack,  ready  to  pull  out  to  the  end  of  the  line,  a  mile  ahead, 
with  a  lot  of  material,  when  we  saw  a  hard-run  horse  gallop 
out  of  the  last  draw,  from  the  Tonto  country,  and  race, 
angling,  toward  the  end  of  the  track,  with  a  midget  of  a 
man  or  a  boy  on  his  back. 

"  After  him  in  a  few  seconds,  came  a  bunch  of  Apaches, 
whooping  it  up  on  their  horses  at  a  gait  that  meant  a  short 
race  for  the  fellow  they  wanted. 

"  It  did  n't  take  my  engineer  five  seconds  to  size  it  up 
and  'point  himself  captain  of  the  construction  gang.  He  or- 
dered me  to  cut  the  engine  loose,  when  he  slacked  her  back, 
and  I  did  it.  He  called  the  gang  together  with  the  whistle, 
in  a  shake  more,  and  they  piled  onto  the  tender  and  the 
engine  with  their  guns,  eager,  plenty,  for  the  fight. 

"  We  got  to  the  end  of  the  track  and  stopped,  just  in  time 
to  let  go  a  broadside  from  the  engine,  as  the  chap  the  Apaches 
were  after  cut  loose  a  shot  from  an  old  brass-bound  rifle  that 
he  poked  out  over  the  ribs  of  his  downed  horse,  and  killed 
the  leader  of  the  bunch,  at  a  clean  hundred  yards  from  where 
he  laid,  between  the  dead  horse  and  the  grade  bank.  It  was 
a  beauty,  and  fetched  a  yell  from  our  boys  that  you  could 
have  heard  over  at  the  mouth  of  the  draw. 

"  Our  shower  of  lead  downed  a  half-dozen  more  of  them 
and  turned  the  rest  back,  and  the  little  chap  staggered  to 
his  feet,  scrambled  over  the  horse's  body,  and  ran  out  alone 

[91] 


MARK     ENDERBY :     ENGINEER 

to  the  Apache  he  had  downed,  before  we  could  swarm  out 
and  overtake  him. 

"  When  we  got  to  him,  he  was  wrapping  in  his  handker- 
chief the  fresh-drawn  scalp  of  a  gray-haired  woman  —  his 
mother's,  as  it  turned  out  —  and  he  had  taken  it  from  the 
belt  of  the  Apache. 

"  Before  we  had  quite  got  the  idea,  he  slashed  a  knife 
twice  about  the  top  of  the  quivering  Apache's  head,  ripped 
the  fellow's  scalp  off  and  stamped  it  into  the  ground  with 
his  heel. 

"  Then  the  poor,  hungry-looking  little  cuss  keeled  over 
and  fainted  complete  away,  with  his  face  turned  up  to  the 
morning  sun ;  and  he  had  not  yet  said  a  word  to  any  of  us. 

"  It  was  my  engineer  who  picked  him  up  and  carried  him 
over  to  the  engine,  bathed  his  face,  and  forced  brandy  down 
his  throat,  until  he  got  his  grip  again  and  told  his  story. 

"  The  boy  was  Dinwiddy,  sixteen  years  old ;  and  it  was 
Halpin,  of  the  oil  house,  who  carried  him,  and  Halpin  who 
buried  the  boy's  butchered  father  and  mother,  that  morning, 
in  the  draw,  under  the  pinon  trees." 

"  Say !  "  said  McPeltrie,  blowing  a  needlessly  loud  blast 
from  his  nose,  into  the  wisp  of  white  waste  that  he  had  sep- 
arated from  the  bundle  upon  the  seat-plank.  "  Keep  your 
eye  on  these  oil  cans  for  a  minute,  will  you?  " 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  said  Enderby. 

"  I  want  to  square  myself  with  Halpin  and  Dinwiddy," 
the  young  man  replied  quite  candidly.  "  When  I  make  an 
ass  of  myself  and  find  it  out  as  plain  as  this,  I  want  to  own 
up  to  it  quick." 

"  I  would  n't,"  advised  Enderby,  quietly.  "  Not  that  way. 
Halpin  don't  like  apologies.  They  work  him  all  up. 

[92] 


DINWIDDY         S       DEBT 

Neither  does  Dinwiddy.  You  are  all  square  enough  with 
them,  now.  Sit  down.  'T  ain't  finished  yet. 

"  Dinwiddy  was  a  smart  little  cuss  from  the  start,"  re- 
sumed Enderby,  as  McPeltrie  dropped  back  upon  the  plank 
beside  him,  "  and  as  it  turned  out,  his  old  Scotch-Irish  dad 
was  no  little  of  a  scholar,  before  ever  he  came  to  the  moun- 
tains. ' 

"  He  had  taught  the  boy  figures  and  things  that  made  the 
most  of  us  rough-and-tumble  fellows  dizzy  to  look  at,  and 
when  the  railroad  took  hold  of  him  and  gave  him  a  job  he 
plumb  surprised  them  by  the  way  he  dug  into  the  business. 

"  The  engines  took  him  most,  though,  and  he  would  go 
hungry,  without  sleep,  and  happy,  for  a  day  in  the  drafting- 
room,  after  the  division-point  shops  and  offices  were  put  at 
Balceta ;  or  for  a  night  ride  over  the  mountains  on  an  en- 
gine, after  the  big  new  rolling-stock  began  to  come  onto  the 
finished  line. 

"  It  got  so  that  the  hostlers  never  moved  an  engine  on  the 
tracks  about  the  roundhouse,  without  first  looking  under  it 
for  young  Dinwiddy;  and  wherever  you  found  him,  he  had 
a  bunch  of  little  blueprints  that  tell  all  about  engines,  in 
pounds  weight  and  few  words,  sticking  out  of  his  clothes, 
somewhere ;  and  he  knew  every  engine  of  the  division,  like  a 
book,  besides  a  lot  about  engines  that  had  not  yet  got  out 
that  far  on  the  line. 

"  That 's  the  way  it  was,  when  I  got  into  an  argument  with 
a  new  marshal,  one  night  I  had  off,  and  when  it  was  all  over, 
I  had  to  get  across  the  border  into  Mexico,  and  stay  there 
until  things  got  on  a  little  past  it. 

"  I  went  running  over  there  in  Mexico,  and  stayed  about 
four  years  before  I  run  over  a  young  Mexican  one  night, 

[93] 


MARK     ENDERBY  :     ENGINEER 

and  cut  him  up  with  the  engine ;  his  fault,  but  you  know  how 
it  was  there  —  jail,  or  get  away.  No  excuse  was  good,  for  a 
railroad  man,  so  I  came  back  over  to  Balceta,  and  took  a  job 
firing. 

"  Nothing  surprised  a  fellow  very  much  out  here  at  that 
time;  just  took  things  as  they  came,  and  said  the  less  the 
better.  So,  if  I  was  n't  surprised,  I  was  mighty  pleased 
when  they  put  me  on  firing  again  for  Halpin. 

"  He  was  then  pulling  a  bang-up  train,  for  those  days, 
that  they  called  '  Sierra  Flyer,'  and  the  time  was  fast,  for 
this  country,  and  mighty  trying  for  a  man  of  Halpin's  years 
and  training.  I  saw  that,  and  it  did  n't  take  me  long  to 
know  that  Halpin  had  bit  off  a'most  more  than  he  could  chew, 
when  he  took  the  run. 

"  He  was  n't  exactly  all  in,  but  near  it,  and  I  did  n't  know 
the  signs  and  signal-smokes  as  well  then  as  I  do  now.  He 
had  just  reached  years  and  burden  enough  to  make  things 
drag  a  bit  for  him.  Too  often,  he  ran  late;  just  a  little, 
but  late.  Too  often,  he  lost  time  on  the  up-grade,  by  just 
that  small  steady  edge  that  cuts  away  a  fast  schedule  before 
you  know  it ;  and  in  the  old,  old  way,  tried  to  make  it  up  at 
a  great  rate  down-grade. 

"  That  way,  with  the  best  intentions  in  the  world,  and  being 
a  good  runner  gone  stale,  he  got  a  reputation  for  bad  judg- 
ment. And  from  the  time  that  the  train-master  shaped  Hal- 
pin's  shortcomings  into  two  words,  *  bad  judgment,'  every 
fellow  that  had  a  club  seemed  to  swing  it  at  him  and  he 
began  to  lose  faith  in  himself.  After  that,  you  know,  the 
end  comes  soon  on  a  fast  run. 

"  There 's  rules  of  nature,  same  as  there 's  rules  of  rail- 
roads. A  limb  weakens  on  that  cottonwood,  over  yon,  and 
the  wind  sweeps  it  off.  The  new  shoot  replaces ;  the  dead 

[94] 


DINWIDDY        S       DEBT 

wood  goes  out.  Halpin  was  going  out,  as  an  engineer,  but 
I  would  n't  own  up  to  myself,  at  first,  that  it  was  so. 

"  It  went  along  that  way,  until  a  summer  night  when  we 
were  pulling  Sierra  Flyer  through  one  of  the  blazing  and  rip- 
ping thunder  storms  of  the  divide. 

"  While  I  was  taking  water  at  a  mountain  tank,  Halpin 
got  down  to  oil  around  some  and  when  I  was  ready  to  go, 
I  found  him  sitting  under  a  ledge  of  rock  alongside  of  the 
engine,  with  his  head  in  his  hands.- 

"  I  hopped  over  to  him,  quick,  because  we  were  late  then, 
on  the  up-grade,  as  usual,  and  asked  him  if  he  was  sick.  He 
said  *  No,'  and  told  me,  flat,  that  he  would  never  get  on  the 
engine  again.  I  grabbed  him  under  the  arms  and  set  him 
on  his  feet;  started  him  toward  the  engine  just  in  time  to 
beat  the  conductor's  lantern  around  the  corner  of  the  rock. 

"  I  bluffed  it  for  him,  straight  and  square,  when  the  con- 
ductor commenced  to  snoop ;  told  him  that  Halpin  had  strained 
his  ankle;  and  Halpin  limped  a  few  right  quick,  to  make 
good,  and  we  went. 

"  Of  course,  I  said  nothing  about  it  at  the  roundhouse, 
though  I  say,  now,  that  it  was  wrong.  He  should  have  been 
taken  off  then,  for  his  own  sake ;  for  every  reason. 

"  A  week  later,  we  were  late  again,  with  a  new  and  heavy 
engine  that  we  had  never  seen  before,  and  were  making  up  the 
time  on  the  down-grade  of  the  foothills.  The  train-master 
was  on  that  night,  with  young  Dinwiddy,  who  was  then  a 
sort  of  helper  to  the  master  mechanic.  They  were  riding  in 
the  day  coach,  from  Villa  Rica  to  Balceta. 

"  Halpin  ran  a  couple  of  small  stations  at  a  rate  that  made 
me  do  a  sand  dance  on  the  deck.  When  the  train-master 
came  ahead  at  the  next  stop  —  young  Dinwiddy  with  him  — 
and  asked  Halpin  how  fast  he  was  running  when  he  went  by 

[95] 


MARK     ENDERBY :     ENGINEER 

the  flag  stations,  Halpin  snapped  him  off  mighty  short; 
told  him  that  he  had  no  way  of  timing  himself,  along  there, 
but  that  he  did  not  think  that  anybody  got  on. 

"  Dinwiddy  had  climbed  onto  the  engine,  meaning  to  ride 
a  piece  with  us,  but  Halpin's  answer  made  the  train-master 
hotter  than  a  singed  wolf;  so  he  calls  Dinwiddy  down  off  the 
engine,  short  like,  and  they  went  back  to  the  day  coach  to- 
gether. I  could  n't  help  telling  Halpin  that  kind  of  talk 
did  n't  help  our  case  none ;  but  he  was  too  mad,  himself,  to  say 
anything,  and  we  got  the  signal  and  pulled  out. 

"  Curves  are  plenty  over  on  that  side,  you  know,  and  Hal- 
pin  soon  hit  one  of  them  too  hard.  We  were  off  like  a  flash, 
with  a  rail  spread,  and  she  ran  a  few  lengths  on  the  ties, 
slewed  across  the  track,  and  stopped,  leaning  half  over,  with 
the  train  rolled  and  crumpled  together,  on  the  road-bed  and  in 
the  ditch,  close  behind  her;  seven  coaches  and  sleepers,  in  a 
close  heap  of  plunder. 

"  I  was  standing  in  the  gangway,  watching  for  a  switch- 
light,  when  the  jolt  came.  It  threw  me  clear  of  the  mess  and 
into  a  borrow  pit  half  full  of  water.  When  I  came  out  of 
my  trance,  my  head  was  held  above  water  by  a  strand  of 
barbed  wire  fence  that  shut  in  the  section-man's  garden,  and 
the  gouging  of  one  of  the  barbs  into  my  jaw,  below  the  ear, 
brought  me  out  of  my  sleep  soon,  and  first  man  to  the 
engine. 

"  Halpin  was  pinned  by  the  leg,  under  the  back  part  of 
the  engine  frame,  and  the  coaches,  fired  by  lamps  when  they 
turned  over,  were  beginning  to  smoke,  all  along  the  line  be- 
hind her. l 

"  Me  and  Halpin  had  an  understanding,  in  the  old  con- 
struction days,  that,  if  either  one  of  us  got  pinned  down  in  a 
wreck,  or  fair  treed  by  Cochise's  people,  the  other  of  us 

[96] 


DINWIDDY        S       DEBT 

would  n't  stand  to  see  a  roasting,  nor  scalding,  nor  scalping 
alive,  so  long  as  a  .44  bullet  would  help  any  to  the  contrary. 
Halpin's  spirits  running  kind  of  low,  about  the  time  of  this 
Sierra  Flyer  business,  by  one  of  the  odd  chances  that  come 
in  such  things,  he  had  brought  up  that  old  topic  just  a  few 
days  before  we  were  ditched.  We  had  agreed  that  Cochise's 
run  was  all  in,  but  that  the  deal  still  held  good,  as  far  as 
being  pinned  down  in  a  mix-up  was  concerned. 

"  I  pried  and  pullad  around  him,  for  a  minute,  before  my 
head  cleared  up  just  right  after  I  crawled  out  of  the  borrow 
pit,  and  then  it  looked  sure  to  me  that  he  was  nailed  by  the 
shin,  for  good  and  all ;  and  him  laying  there,  still  as  a  badger, 
and  searching  my  face  for  the  verdict,  in  the  light  of  the 
torch  I  had  pulled  out  of  his  busted  seat-box,  which  was 
spread  around  on  the  ground  beside  the  engine. 

"  Final,  I  had  to  straighten  up  and  step  back  to  think 
of  something  else  to  try,  right  speedy,  and  he  spoke  out 
clear,  and  says : 

"  '  Give  it  to  me,  Enderby  ! ' 

"  '  Not  yet,'  says  I,  looking  back  to  the  cloud  of  smoke 
that  was  thickening  above  the  overturned  coaches  and  shut- 
ting out  what  little  light  there  was  from  the  night  sky. 

"  '  Give  it  to  me,  I  tell  you ! '  he  yelled.  *  It 's  your  word 
for  it !  I  '11  save  it  as  long  as  I  can  ! ' 

"  '  Will  you  wait  till  I  can  get  back  to  you  ?  '  I  asked  him. 
"  '  I  '11  wait,  if  it  don't  roast  me,'  he  promised.     '  Give  it 
to  me ! ' 

"  I  passed  him  the  Derringer  from  my  vest  pocket  —  it 
was  the  best  I  had  with  me  —  and  I  left  him  lying  there,  just 
as  the  cloud  of  smoke  flashed  into  sudden  flame  and  turned  the 
wreck  and  the  mountain-side  red  with  the  light  of  it. 

"  The  flames  leaped  toward  him  among  the  crooked  line 

[97] 


MARK     ENDERBY  :     ENGINEER 

of  coaches  as  I  ran  back  looking  for  an  axe.  It  was  one  of 
the  mix-ups  where  everything  is  turned  over  and  shook 
around  and  nobody  killed  or  even  much  hurt.  People 
crawled  out  of  places  where  you  'd  think  a  gopher  could  n't 
go  through  alive ;  some  laughing,  silly  like,  and  some  crying 
and  swearing,  but  all  helping  themselves,  and  the  train  crew 
and  the  train-master  and  Dinwiddy  working  among  them; 
anyhow,  my  straight  play  was  back  to  Halpin. 

"  I  kicked  in  a  whole  sash,  nearest  the  tool-rack  of  a  coach 
and  ran  back  to  the  engine  with  the  axe,  expecting  at  every 
step  to  hear  the  crack  of  my  gun  in  Halpin's  hand. 

"  I  got  to  him  while  he  was  still  lying  there  on  his  belly, 
grinding  his  teeth  and  clutching  the  gun,  watching  the  plumes 
of  flame  swaying  and  swirling  toward  him ;  and  the  sneaking 
dull  fire-line  that  crept  at  him  along  the  ground,  under  the 
rubbish  of  the  wreck. 

"  I  told  him  my  plan,  short  and  clear,  and  he  agreed,  with 
a  shiver  of  pain.  I  pulled  down  the  slack  of  the  bell-cord 
off  the  side  of  the  boiler  and  cut  off  a  length.  I  split  his 
trouser-leg,  to  above  the  knee,  and  wrapped  the  calf  of  his 
leg,  around  and  around,  with  the  rope,  tight  as  I  could 
draw  it,  and  finished  with  the  twist  of  a  stick  above  the 
knee,  like  what  Doc.  Maxon  and  all  the  medicine  sharps  call 
a  tourniquet. 

"  Then,  I  told  him  *  All  right ! '  and  slipped  a  little  chop- 
ping block  tight  under  his  shin,  upon  the  rock. 

"  *  Go  ahead ! '  he  said,  and  dropped  his  face  in  his  arms. 

"  I  raised  the  axe,  back  over  my  shoulder,  for  a  full  drive, 
and  struck." 

"  Jehosaphat! "  exclaimed  McPeltrie,  springing  up  from 
the  plank  seat,  with  clenched  hands,  his  wide  eyes  searching 

[98] 


DINWIDDY        S       DEBT 

the  face  of  the  quiet-mannered  old  engineer.     "  You  said  it 
is  n't  cork !  " 

"  Sit  down,  Mack."  The  old  man's  voice  was  soft  as  a 
harp-note,  now. 

"  The  axe  hooked  into  something  back  of  me,  on  the  up- 
stroke, and  at  the  same  time  young  Dinwiddy's  voice  rang 
close  to  my  ear :  *  Don't!  ' 

"  Next  thing,  the  axe  was  wrenched  from  my  hands  and 
went  clattering  down  upon  the  rock  ballast  on  the  track. 

"  Strung  up  to  the  pitch  that  I  was,  it  made  me  wild  to  see 
the  young  cuss  standing  there  that  way,  telling  me  that  he 
could  lift  the  engine  off  of  Halpin,  after  knocking  the  axe 
out  of  my  grip,  and  I  gave  him  a  hard  shove  aside. 

"  The  new  engine  looked  as  big  as  a  hill,  to  me. 

"  *  You  can  lift  the  mountain ! '  I  yelled,  savage-like. 

"  He  staggered  back  from  my  shove  and  then  pushed  back 
up  to  me  again,  in  the  brighter  light,  and  I  saw  what  the 
axe  had  first  struck.  It  had  hooked  him  in  the  point  of  the 
chin,  and  that  white  notch  you  saw  to-day  was  a  different- 
looking  affair  just  then,  in  the  glare  of  the  flames  and  the 
light  of  the  flickering  torch. 

"  *  Don't,  Enderby ! '  he  repeated,  standing  there  with  his 
good  red  blood  dyeing  the  whole  front  of  him.  '  We  can  lift 
him  clear ! ' 

"  You  've  seen,  before  now,  that  I  ain't  to  say  much  edu- 
cated in  figures,  but  he  showed  me,  quick  and  clear,  on  one 
of  the  little  blueprints  from  his  pocket,  what  weight  that  new 
engine  was,  and  what  of  it  she  was  likely  holding  down  on 
Halpin. 

"  That 's  a  way  Dinwiddy  has ;  he  can  show  you,  clear  and 
short.  It 's  what  made  him,  I  reckon. 

[99] 


MARK     EN DERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  It  did  n't  take  ten  seconds,  seemed  to  me,  and  I  knowed 
more  of  that  stuff  than  I  ever  knowed  in  my  life  before. 
Course,  I  was  keyed  up  high,  on  account  of  Halpin  and 
everything  together,  but  I  got  it  in  three  winks ;  the  whole 
weight ;  the  pry  we  'd  need ;  the  men's  weight  we  'd  want  for 
to  lift  what  was  crowding  down  on  Halpin.  The  boy  made 
it  all  clear. 

"  Seems  like  it  did  n't  take  ten  seconds,  I  say,  before  we 
had  a  gang  of  strong  fellows  knocking  the  ends  off  of  splice- 
bolts  in  the  track ;  ripping  up  four  rails ;  trotting  them  on  a 
double-quick  to  the  engine  and  binding  them  into  a  close 
bunch,  side  by  side,  first  a  head  and  then  a  flange  up,  held 
tight  and  close  with  a  drag-chain  from  the  tender  tool-box. 

"  We  shoved  the  pry  in  over  a  little  pier  of  cross-ties  that 
the  others  had  built  up  beside  where  Halpin  was  caught,  and 
then  Dinwiddy  massed  the  heaviest  men,  me  among  them,  on 
the  far  end  of  the  pry  —  a  score  of  big  fellows  —  and  gave 
the  word,  quick  and  hearty. 

"  We  dropped  our  weight  on  the  pry,  and  the  engine  gave. 
She  rose,  into  the  crackling  arch  of  flames  above  her,  ever  so 
little,  but  enough  to  let  Dinwiddy  drag  Halpin's  broken  leg 
free  of  the  clutch  of  the  frame  and  the  track,  and  roll  him 
into  the  ditch,  with  the  whole  back  of  his  blouse  smoking  and 
a  savage  little  circle  of  fire  eating  through  the  middle  of  it. 

"  The  splintered  hood  of  the  first  coach  and  the  blazing 
engine  cab  hung  together  a  little  longer,  above  where  he  had 
been  lying,  and  then  a  gust  of  wind  and  flame  swept  them 
down  in  a  mass  of  glowing  embers  and  fire-brands,  covering 
the  spot,  deep. 

"  Just  beyond  the  reach  of  it  when  it  fell,  Halpin  was 
lying,  senseless,  with  my  gun  half  clutched  in  his  limp  hand. 

"  Dinwiddy  jumped  back  to  him  with  a  shout  and  took  the 

[100] 


DINWIDDY        S       DEBT 

gun  from  his  hand ;  bathed  his  face  and  dosed  him  with  water 
and  kindness ;  cut  off  the  rope  and  rough-splinted  his  leg, 
until  better  help  showed  up. 

"  To  shake  it  all  down  with  one  fire :  That 's  where  Din- 
widdy  first  showed  up  real  big  for  master  mechanic ;  Halpin, 
for  a  long  run  in  the  oil  house ;  and  I,  for  a  place  on  the 
judgment  seat,  here,  and  for  this  afternoon  Limited  run  to 
Balceta,  which  is  getting  a  little  heavy  for  an  old-timer,  like 
me,"  Enderby  finished  rather  wistfully,  and  with  a  passing 
weariness. 

"  So,  Mack,  when  you  find  Dinwiddy  trying  to  pay  Halpin, 
on  that  old  Cochise  debt  of  his,  or  Halpin  paying  instal- 
ments of  good-will  on  the  leg,  or  more,  that  Dinwiddy  saved 
him  when  I  was  trying  to  make  good  on  my  promise,  why, 
don't  go  and  get  huffy  about  it. 

"  It  does  us  no  harm  to  have  them  go  on  thinking  they  are 
both  much  obliged  to  each  other  —  because,  they  really  are 
that,  I  reckon,  when  you  see  it  right." 

"  I  see,"  said  McPeltrie,  almost  inaudibly,  with  a  look  of 
full  accord. 

Rising,  he  gripped  the  old  man's  hand  with  a  clasp  that 
hurt.  Tucking  the  bundle  of  waste  under  his  arm,  he  lifted 
his  precious  oil  cans  and,  with  the  assurance  and  liberality  of 
youth,  said  again : 

"  I  see !  You  three  fellows  are  sure  aces  with  me,  from 
now  on.  Let 's  go.  I  heard  her  whistle  for  the  target,  up 
in  the  pass." 


[101] 


CHAPTER  VII 
A  JAB  AT  JIM  LUCERO 

DODSON,  comfortably  established  near  the  end  of  the 
bench  at  Villa  Rica's  roundhouse  water  tank,  was  one 
of  half  a  dozen  of  the  regulars  who  sat  idly,  for  the  time- 
being,  looking  out  into  the  sunny,  peaceful  calm  that  brooded 
over  the  bottom  of  the  crater. 

Just  across  the  tracks,  old  Camargo,  long  healed  of  the 
hurts  of  the  fierce  battle  of  the  Sacromonte,  was  ambling  in 
the  wake  of  a  bevy  of  lazy  burros  toward  the  distant  fagot 
lands,  and  from  the  small  irrigated  field  of  sprouting  alfalfa 
which  lay  like  an  emerald  in  the  dull  gold  of  the  crater's 
bottom,  chattering  magpies  rose  before  the  slow  advance  of 
the  little  burro  train  and  flung  their  glinting  plumage  of 
black  and  white  fluttering  upward  against  the  wide  expanse 
of  the  bluest  of  blue  skies. 

Only  a  trail  of  thinning  smoke  above  the  eastern  pass  re- 
mained to  tell  of  the  recent  departure  of  Muller  with  the  mail, 
and  Dodson  now  whimsically  bridged  the  conversational  gap 
caused  by  Muller's  going. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  there  have  been  interruptions  to  traffic 
ever  since  Balaam  was  held  up  with  the  jaw-bone  of  an  ass; 
and  maybe  a  good  sight  longer  than  that.  But,  when  it 
comes  to  treeing  the  felon,  I  'm  minded  to  stick  by  the  scrip- 
tures and  let  every  man  kill  his  own  snakes ! 

[102] 


A      JAB      AT      JIM      LUCERO 

"  I  'm  on  the  call-board  to  run  engine,  every  time  I  'm 
first  out,  but  I  don't  hone  for  any  jobs  as  deputy  marshal, 
nor  any  of  that  kind  of  grandstand  play,  however  needful." 

"  You  're  a  little  mixed  in  your  figures  and  all  prinked  up 
on  history  and  such,  since  you  and  young  Harper  got  away 
with  old  Camargo's  blanket  at  the  Penitente  sociable,  down 
Sacromonte  way ! "  volunteered  McPeltrie.  "  I  could  n't 
take  my  affidavit,  but,  far  as  I  remember,  it  was  Samson  killed 
the  snakes  and  Balaam  had  nothing  to  do  with  it  but  ride  the 
burro." 

"  I  forgot  about  you  and  Samson  and  Balaam  bunking 
in  the  same  shack,  along  about  that  time,"  laughed  Dodson. 
"  Get  my  meaning  about  hold-ups  though,  don't  you?  " 

"  Si,  senor!  "  said  McPeltrie  with  an  emphatic  nod,  "  and 
I  'm  here  to  announce,  without  popping  off  too  heavy  while 
we  're  drifting,  that  no  hold-up  that  ever  wagged  a  gun  will 
take  an  engine  away  from  me,  as  long  as  I  can  bat  an  eye 
and  wave  a  leg !  " 

A  man  arriving  for  the  first  time  upon  the  great  south- 
western plateau,  or  its  close  environs,  quickly  becomes  aware 
of  an  elusive  something  which  seems  just  to  evade  the  grasp 
of  his  understanding.  It  may  even  be  that  he  will  have  need 
to  loosen  his  heart-strings,  as  it  were,  to  compass  a  fuller  beat 
of  humanity,  and  expand  his  soul  to  a  fuller,  primal  sense  of 
nearness  to  the  great  source  of  life  itself  before,  by  patient 
and  unobtrusive  learning  of  a  broad  new  theme,  he  finds  the 
key  to  the  great  open,  yet  secret  chamber  of  the  high  coun- 
try. There,  as  everywhere,  there  are  some  things,  of  course, 
which  at  once  arrange  themselves  in  the  lists  of  the  common- 
place. But  there  are  influences  which,  apparently  joining 
up  the  good  with  the  bad,  the  nicest  refinement  of  courtesy 
with  the  strongest  of  fibre,  long  keep  him  keenly  alive  to  the 

[103] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

fact  that,  there,  he  is  a  stranger  to  himself,  almost  as  much 
as  to  those  about  him. 

There  is  first,  an  ever-smiling  sky  that  almost  audibly 
speaks  a  welcome,  without  respect  of  persons.  And,  again, 
there  is  an  inherent  distrust  between  unlike  races,  each  of 
which  has  suffered  deeply  at  the  hands  of  the  other.  These 
things,  with  the  passing  of  centuries,  have  impressed  upon 
the  Villa  Rica  country  that  deep  understanding  of  men  and 
affairs  which  only  great  age  and  a  much  varied  civilization 
can  supply.  The  composite  result  is  a  strong  and  admirable 
type  of  manhood  which  is  often  masked  by  a  very  positive 
sort  of  reticence  and  which  not  infrequently  finds  its  partial 
expression  as  in  Dodson's,  or  in  some  one's  else,  "  Let  every 
man  kill  his  own  snakes." 

The  outspoken  defy  of  McPeltrie  was,  therefore,  not  in 
accord  with  the  unwritten  rules  of  the  game,  as  Villa  Rica 
interpreted  the  great  game  of  life.  The  subject  of  hold-ups 
was  rarely  discussed  and,  indeed,  never  in  a  belligerent  way, 
by  the  older  men.  Accordingly,  the  immediate  result  of 
McPeltrie's  announcement  was  an  impressive  silence.  That 
the  topic  was  being  discussed  at  all  upon  this  occasion  was 
due  only  to  the  fact  that  Muller  with  the  mail  had  just 
hauled  away  to  the  territorial  prison  Saddle  Jack,  with  his 
arm  shot  off  at  the  shoulder  as  the  result  of  his  late  attempt 
to  hold  up  the  Overland  Express,  while  out  on  parole  for  a 
similar  offence  committed  some  years  before. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Pap  ?  "  said  Dodson  very  quietly,  when 
the  silence  had  become  oppressive.  "  Ever  been  held  up  on 
an  engine?  Seems  like  I  remember  something." 

"  Twice,"  replied  Enderby,  slowly  lifting  his  steady  hand 
out  of  the  play  of  sunshine  and  shadow  upon  the  knees  of  his 

[  104-  ] 


A      JAB       AT      JIM       LUCERO 

overalls  and  extending  two  fingers  upward  in  a  sort  of  visual 
signal  of  confirmation. 

"  Twice,"  he  repeated,  as  he  lifted  his  eyes  retrospectively 
to  the  thin  column  of  smoke  that  was  drifting  up  lazily  from 
the  stack  of  Dodson's  waiting  engine,  and  his  hand  dropped 
back  easily  upon  his  knees. 

"  Go  ahead ! "  admonished  Dodson  with  close-lidded, 
sparkling  eyes.  "  Clear  board,  Pap !  " 

"  There  ain't  so  much  to  it,"  said  Enderby,  flushing 
slightly.  "  The  first  time  was  down  along  the  base  of  Sac- 
romonte,  one  night  about  ten  years  ago,  and  it  was  Saddle 
Jack  that  did  it.  We  had  about  forty-five  thousand  in  gold 
bullion  aboard,  and  enough  paper  cash  to  make  up  a  tidy 
sum  besides,  though  we  did  n't  know  it  until  some  little  time 
after  the  showdown. 

"  We  were  making  good  on  the  time-card,  about  as  usual, 
when  we  stopped  for  a  flag  among  the  rocks  down  there,  and 
when  we  picked  it  up,  Jim  Lucero's  gang  pulled  the  red 
handkerchief  off  the  lantern  they  had  used  and  went  to  work 
in  the  same  old  way. 

"  No  use  going  into  that  part  of  it.  With  the  guns  and 
dynamite  they  had  ready,  they  just  handled  the  express  car 
crew  like  tamales  —  hot  ones  though  —  and  there  was  noth- 
ing to  that  end  of  it  but  a  lively  skirmish,  with  one  or  two  of 
the  boys  bullet-creased,  and  then  we  had  to  make  the  usual 
run  down  the  track  a  piece  with  the  engine  and  express  car 
and  give  up  the  paper  money,  with  some  of  the  gold." 

"  What  were  you  fellows  doing  on  the  engine  all  this 
time,  Pap?  "  McPeltrie  interrupted  in  his  eagerness. 

"  I  '11  be  to  that,  right  soon,"  said  Enderby,  looking  so- 
berly at  Dodson. 

[105] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  This  same  Saddle  Jack,  that 's  all  shot  up  and  on  the 
way  over  behind  Muller  this  morning,  hopped  up  in  the 
gangway  before  we  had  quite  come  to  a  stop  and  called  my 
attention,  some  sharp  and  imperative,  to  a  pair  of  guns  he 
was  holding  onto  me  and  my  fireman  and  said  for  us  to  stop 
quick  and  get  down  to  help  uncouple  the  express  car. 

"  That  was  my  first  hold-up,"  he  interjected  thoughtfully. 
"  The  second  one  came  about  four  minutes  later ! 

"  First  place,  we  had  to  get  down,  of  course,  me  and  the 
fireman,  and  with  that  pair  of  guns  pushing  us  in  the  small 
of  our  backs,  we  uncoupled  the  express  car  from  the  rest  of 
the  train  and  headed  back  for  the  engine,  according  to 
orders,  feeling  sort  of  like  slow  music,  but  madder  than 
badgers,  you  can  know. 

"  The  fellow  was  handling  the  two  of  us  alone  and  it 
seemed  kind  of  cheap  for  two  able-bodied  men  like  us.  So, 
when  he  let  me  up  the  engine  step  first  I  saw  my  chance  and 
made  a  quick  play  for  my  gun,  which  was  shoved  down  in  a 
holster  behind  the  seat-box  them  days,  meaning  to  plug  him 
some  when  his  head  came  up  above  the  level  of  the  gangway, 
after  the  fireman. 

"I  didn't  though,  because,  just  when  I  had  it  gripped 
fair  in  my  hand  and  turned  to  raise  it  and  —  reason  with 
the  wolf,  the  glass  in  the  back  sash  of  the  cab  come  splinter- 
ing down  on  my  neck  and  I  was  seeing  from  the  front  room 
clean  back  into  the  kitchen  of  a  miserable  big  gun  that  Jim 
Lucero  poked  through  the  opening  and  was  holding  on  me. 

"  That  was  my  second  hold-up ;  and  there  was  n't  much 
said.  He  just  remarked,  *  No,  you  don't,  pardner!'  And, 
of  course,  I  did  n't.  He  had  climbed  up  out  of  the  dark  on 
t'  other  side  of  the  engine  and  was  working  shares  with  Saddle 

[106] 


A      JAB       AT      JIM       LUCERO 

Jack  at  that  time,  you  '11  note.  Taking  it  all  together,  they 
and  the  gang  made  quite  a  rich  get-away  that  night;  took 
about  all  they  could  tote  handy. 

"  Oh,  yes !  Yes,  they  got  them,  later,  and  cooped  them 
for  a  while,  and  it  was  the  breaking  of  the  parole  that  they 
both  got  out  on  that  's  now  got  this  Saddle  Jack  what  looks 
to  be  his  sure  finish.  It  ought  to  be  a  powerful  lesson  to 
Jim  Lucero,  who  don't  seem  to  be  in  this  last  happening, 
and  keep  him  good  till  he  dies ;  but  with  his  mixture  of  native 
blood  and  the  stories  of  white  men's  outrages  against  his 
people  that 's  been  schooled  into  him  by  true-enough  legends 
for  three  generations,  you  might  say,  it 's  just  as  likely  to 
start  him  off  wrong  again.  But  it 's  hardly  in  him,  at  his 
years ;  not  scarcely,  I  should  think." 

"  Where  's  he  now  ?  "  asked  McPeltrie,  breaking  the  ensu- 
ing silence  with  something  less  of  enthusiasm  than  that  with 
which  he  had  embarked  upon  the  earlier  discussion. 

"  Jim  is  living  out  yonder,  about  ten  miles  or  such  a  mat- 
ter, some  back  from  the  track,  and  appears  to  be  a  mighty 
amiable  citizen,  far  as  I  can  discover.  Sheepman  in  a  small 
way,  I  reckon,"  Enderby  answered,  in  the  conclusive  manner 
of  having  followed  the  subject  to  its  logical  end. 

"  Well,  Pap,"  persisted  McPeltrie,  "  you  're  a  heap  old 
and  wise  and  I  'm  meaning  no  disrespect,  but  it  don't  seem  a 
whole  job  to  me  that  way.  Where  was  your  able-bodied 
fireman  and  his  artillery  and  the  fire-hook  and  the  hot  water 
squirt-hose  all  the  between-times,  while  the  game  was  young? 
Who  was  your  fireman,  anyway?  " 

"  If  you  '11  think  that  play  over  some  careful,  son,  it  will 
be  made  manifest  to  you  that  there  was  n't  any  between- 
time,  to  speak  of.  And  the  fireman  was  on  his  seat-box, 

[107] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

same  as  me,  with  his  hands  kind  of  flabbed  out  in  easy  sight 
on  his  knees,  except  when  we  were  helping  the  friends  un- 
couple. 

"  Dodson,  here,  was  my  fireman  that  trip.  Maybe  he  could 
make  his  doings  some  plainer  to  you,  if  there  is  spare  time 
on  your  run  with  him  to-day.  But  our  play  looked  all 
square  and  regular  to  me  then,  and  looking  back  from  this 
distance,  I  can't  rightly  see  that  I  've  got  call  to  change  them 
views  of  it." 

"  Well,  gee-whillikens ! "  exclaimed  McPeltrie,  gazing  in 
astonishment  at  the  unperturbed  face  of  Dodson,  for  whom 
he  had  been  firing  of  late. 

"  I  spoke  my  piece.  I  never  lost  any  hold-up  men,  that 
I  know  of,  and  ain't  looking  for  any ! "  said  Dodson  with 
his  cool  and  convincing  smile. 

"  Same  here ! "  said  McPeltrie  with  a  valiant  shake  of  the 
head.  "  But  I  'd  sure  have  to  take  one  jab  at  them  if  the 
game  came  up  on  my  deck.  I  just  could  n't  help  it,  you  see ! 
I  'm  built  that  way." 

"  I  have  n't  noticed  anything  special  in  your  build," 
laughed  Dodson,  "  but  I  allow  that  you  are  built  all  right  for 
firing,  and  here  comes  our  job.  Come  on !  So  long,  boys !  " 

They  moved  away  from  the  group  together,  at  that,  and 
were  presently  heading  the  Overland  away  over  the  western 
crest  with  their  fresh  engine,  quite  in  the  usual  order  of 
things,  and  it  seems  hardly  fair  that  McPeltrie  should  have 
been  called  upon  so  summarily  by  fate  to  make  good  his 
declarations.  Yet,  it  is  allowed  to  pass  without  quibble  that 
all  is  fair  in  war  and  some  other  pursuits,  and  what  followed 
was  war,  while  it  lasted. 

The  trip  west  to  Balceta  with  the  Overland  was  made  with- 

[108] 


A      JAB       AT      JIM       LUCERO 

out  unusual  happenings  and  Dodson  and  McPeltrie  were 
well-nigh  back  to  Villa  Rica  with  the  mail,  in  the  small,  dark 
hours  of  that  night's  return  run.  That  is,  they  had  reached 
and  stopped  at  a  naked  little  platform  along  the  tracks  in 
response  to  the  conductor's  cab  signal,  to  drop  a  lone  pas- 
senger into  the  darkness  of  the  early  morning.  It  was  at 
the  point  which  Enderby  doubtless  had  in  mind  when  roughly 
locating  the  neighborhood  of  Jim  Lucero's  small  sheep  range 
for  McPeltrie's  benefit  in  the  previous  morning's  talk  at 
the  Villa  Rica  tank,  and  while  McPeltrie  had  now  come  close 
to  the  location  —  was,  in  fact,  very  close  to  the  subject  earlier 
in  hand  —  he  was  quite  unmindful  of  either  the  one  or  the 
other,  being  busy  hooking  at  a  mass  of  clinker  that  had  been 
caking  his  fire  and  menacing  the  schedule  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  run. 

The  blower  was  purring  fiercely  through  the  smoke-stack 
and  broad  bands  of  ruddy  light  were  alternately  dying  and 
flaring  upward  upon  the  dense  darkness  above  the  engine  as 
he  faced  the  white  heat  from  the  open  fire-box  door  and 
writhed  his  strong  body  and  distorted  his  determined  face 
in  the  glare  of  the  fire.  There  had  been  only  a  hurried, 
struggling  ten  seconds  of  this,  with  Dodson,  in  deep  concern, 
leaning  down  from  his  seat-box  to  glance  into  the  roaring 
furnace  glare,  and  then  McPeltrie  safely  hooked  the  clinker 
up  and  was  in  the  act  of  a  last  upward  heave  of  the  fire-hook 
to  land  the  thing  upon  the  engine  deck  and  later  kick  it  well 
into  the  ditch  beside  the  track.  His  swiftly  uplifting  arm 
struck  an  unlooked-for  obstruction,  and  turning  his  blinded 
eyes  toward  the  darkness  of  the  gangway  he  dimly  outlined 
the  figure  of  a  man,  whom  he  instantly  assumed  was  the  con- 
ductor, standing  close  in  his  way. 

[109] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  Keep  out  of  the  way,  will  you  ?  "  he  snapped,  and  turned 
his  eyes  back  into  the  white  glare  without  losing  his  precious 
hold  upon  the  clinker. 

The  obstruction  at  his  elbow  did  not  move,  however,  and 
his  suspended  hand  upon  the  heavy  loop  of  the  fire-hook 
failed  to  deliver  the  clinker  upon  the  deck  at  his  next  effort. 
When  he  again  turned  his  face  fiercely  with  hand  still  in  air, 
the  obstruction  spoke. 

"  Climb  up  beside  your  pardner !  Drop  the  hook !  "  it 
said,  and  the  game  had  really  come  up  on  McPeltrie's  deck. 

Contrary  to  the  accepted  order  of  such  proceedings,  Mc- 
Peltrie  straightened  up  and  stiffened  like  a  man  of  stone  at 
sound  of  the  strange  voice,  and  his  hold  upon  the  hook -loop 
set  like  the  grip  of  a  vise.  In  a  tense  instant  of  silence  his 
heat-blinded  eyes  cleared  to  frame  the  shadowy  image  of  the 
intruder,  and  for  the  moment  following  he  was  not  quite 
sure  whether  his  mind  was  harking  back  to  the  recently  spoken 
words  of  Pap  Enderby  or  whether  he  was  really  looking  upon 
a  very  exact  counterpart  of  the  encounter  with  Jim  Lucero, 
which  Enderby  had  tersely  described. 

There  was  the  man  with  the  gun  levelled  upon  the  small 
of  Dodson's  back  and  Dodson  with  his  hands  lying  still  and 
spread  plainly  upon  his  knees.  Yes,  and  there  was  the  mate 
to  that  gun,  wavering  close  before  his  face  like  the  liquid 
sweep  of  a  coiled  rattler's  head,  and  he  was  staring  straight 
into  it !  A  fusillade  of  rifle  shots  back  along  the  train  rang 
out  above  the  humming  of  the  engine  blower  and  broke  the 
spell  of  the  thing,  all  of  which  had  grown  upon  McPeltrie's 
mind  in  the  passing  of  a  breath  or  two,  and  he  unlimbered 
from  his  momentary  palsy.  It  was  real! 

There  are,  fortunately,  few  men,  outside  the  slums  of 

[110] 


A      JAB       AT      JIM       LUCERO 

cities  and  the  uttermost  haunts  of  savages,  who  will  deliber- 
ately shoot  down  an  unarmed  man,  even  in  the  most  desperate 
of  ventures.  Whether  McPeltrie  reckoned  with  a  sure 
knowledge  of  this,  or  whether  he  merely  acted  up  to  his 
impulse  with  the  heat  from  the  furnace  scorching  the  whole 
front  of  him,  is  of  no  present  consequence.  He  struck  a 
pivoting  blow  downward,  swiftly  and  in  silence,  with  the 
heavy  loop  of  the  fire-hook,  and  the  slim,  wiry  body  of  the 
intruder  crumpled  down  upon  the  deck  with  spreading  hands 
from  which  the  guns  clattered  loosely  upon  the  lapsheet  and 
slid  off  into  the  darkness  below  the  gangway. 

McPeltrie  let  go  his  grip  upon  the  hook-handle  that  still 
projected  from  the  fire-box  and  fell  upon  the  man  with  the 
fury  of  a  cougar.  The  shock  of  his  weight  and  the  closing 
of  his  grip  upon  the  man's  throat  aroused  the  fallen  high- 
wayman to  battle  for  his  life  as  an  animal  instinctively  must 
battle  in  a  death  grapple.  It  was  all  so  swiftly  past  that 
when  the  struggling  pair  rolled  out  of  the  gangway  and 
somersaulted  to  the  soft  embankment  below,  even  the  quick 
wits  of  Dodson  had  not  had  time  to  grasp  fully  the  fact  that 
he  was  free  from  the  menace  of  the  guns.  And  when  he 
leaped  from  his  box  and  sprang  to  the  gangway  the  strain- 
ing voice  of  McPeltrie  came  thickly  up  to  him  from  below, 
mingled  with  the  quick  rattle  of  the  rifles  along  the  train. 

"  Pull  'em  out,  Dodson  !  I  '11  catch  the  hind  end  !  "  yelled 
McPeltrie.  "  I  'm  doing  well !  Hurry  !  " 

That  was  all,  and  Dodson  did  it.  With  the  fire-door  open 
and  McPeltrie's  fire-hook  protruding  from  the  box,  he 
opened  sander  and  throttle  and  was  quickly  gone  with  the 
train.  He  patched  the  fire  and  trusted,  the  whiles,  to  luck 
ahead,  over  the  five  miles  that  brought  the  train  to  first  touch 

[111] 


MARE     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

with  the  telegraph,  and  then  the  affair  was  quickly  in  the 
hands  of  Bunnel,  the  despatcher,  and  Abe  Hazard,  marshal 
at  Villa  Rica. 

But  no  McPeltrie  came  forward  from  the  train  when 
Dodson  pulled  up  at  the  telegraph  station.  Therefore, 
Dodson  made  his  first  record  of  insubordination  by  refusing 
to  take  the  train  on  to  Villa  Rica  without  McPeltrie.  He 
fought  the  question  rapidly  and  fiercely  over  the  wire  with 
the  despatcher,  insisting  that  he  must  have  permission  to  cut 
the  engine  loose  and  run  back.  Waverly,  the  conductor,  was 
of  the  same  mind  until  the  despatcher  snapped  out  a  brief 
and  final  order  to  proceed  to  Villa  Rica  regularly  and  run 
back  an  extra  to  the  point  where  McPeltrie  fell  off.  They 
signed  for  the  order  and  went,  when  it  thus  came  solidly 
back  to  the  routine  of  written  orders,  Waverly  voicing  the 
unspoken  fear  of  Dodson,  by  way  of  a  poor  consolation  to 
himself. 

"  He  's  dead  by  now,  like  as  not,"  said  he,  "  but  we  '11  get 
Abe  and  the  boys  aboard  and  go  back  for  a  hard  try  at  find- 
ing him  and  that  gang,  anyway." 

Their  later  arrival  at  the  lonely  platform  showed  little  in 
the  light  of  day  to  answer  for  the  trouble  of  the  dark  hours, 
and  the  marshal  and  his  men  silently  unloaded  their  rifles 
and  horses  from  the  hastily  made  up  train  and  dispersed,  cir- 
cling about  and  beyond  the  track  for  the  desired  trail  from 
the  spot.  Dodson  picked  up  the  blood-stained  cap  of  Mc- 
Peltrie from  where  it  lay  by  the  embankment  and  held  it  out 
mutely  for  Waverly's  inspection.  Then  they  could  only 
climb  aboard  and  return  to  Villa  Rica,  leaving  Abe  Hazard 
to  work  it  out  with  his  posse.  Trains  must  run,  even  though 
men  may  die. 


A      JAB       AT      JIM       LUCERO 

It  was  a  sorry  special  caucus  that  was  being  held  that 
afternoon  at  the  roundhouse  tank,  and  so  much  as  the  flutter 
of  a  vulture's  wing  above  the  rim-rock  of  the  crater  did 
not  escape  the  anxious  eyes  that  looked  up  from  below,  on 
watch  for  a  sign  of  the  return  of  Hazard's  men.  First  to 
appear,  however,  was  the  lazy  line  of  Camargo's  ambling 
burro  train  returning  from  its  journey  of  the  day  before 
and  now  winding  its  way  down  the  ancient  native  trail  upon 
the  farther  side  of  the  rocky  circle.  Like  animated  bundles 
of  fagots  they  looked,  under  their  too  heavy  loads;  all  save 
one  of  them  in  the  lead  of  the  procession,  and  upon  that  one 
sat  the  huddled  figure  of  a  man  by  whose  side  old  Camargo 
carefully  picked  his  way  upon  the  narrow  footpath  in  the 
face  of  the  cliff  and  steadied  the  rider  upon  his  small  mount. 

When  the  little  train  had  safely  reached  the  green  area  in 
the  crater  bottom  the  chattering  magpies  rose  laughing  into 
the  sunlight,  as  before,  and  the  group  at  the  tank  bench, 
wearied  with  its  long  surmising,  idly  watched  the  approach 
until  Dodson  suddenly  sprang  to  his  feet  and  rushed  away 
with  long,  leaping  strides  to  meet  Camargo  and  his  passen- 
ger. The  tank  bench  group  trailed  running  in  the  rear  and 
when  they  closed  in  upon  the  rider  it  was  to  see  McPeltrie, 
whose  battered  and  swollen  face  still  bore  the  semblance  of  a 
victorious  smile,  lurch  heavily  from  the  back  of  the  burro 
and  slip,  senseless,  to  the  ground  in  the  ready  support  of  old 
Camargo's  arms. 

A  different  kind  of  cavalcade  shortly  came  winding  over 
the  edge  of  the  crater's  rim  and  picked  its  way  down  the 
same  tortuous  trail.  Abe  Hazard  led  the  march  and  at  the 
middle  of  the  little  file  of  vigilant  horsemen  rode  a  swarthy, 
slim-bodied  little  man  with  bleached  blue  eyes  and  nervous 
8  [  113  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

hands,  whose  feet  were  bound  securely  under  the  belly  of  his 
horse  and  whose  restless  hands  remained  close-locked  upon  his 
saddle  horn. 

While  that  procession  found  its  way  to  the  carcel  and 
presently  distributed  itself  unassumingly  about  the  town,  but 
minus  the  little  man  with  the  faded  eyes,  the  senseless  body 
of  McPeltrie  was  borne  away  to  Villa  Rica's  modest  railroad 
hospital,  upon  the  big  shoulders  of  Dodson,  whereon  Mc- 
Peltrie's  head  lolled  helplessly  as  the  head  of  a  sleeping 
child. 

About  twenty-four  hours  of  inactivity  was  all  that  he 
could  be  held  down  to  in  the  hospital  ward,  and  then,  when 
Dodson  came  in  next  day  to  sit  with  him  on  a  special  leave 
off,  he  swung  his  strong  legs  clear  of  the  side  of  the  cot, 
against  the  protests  of  the  nurse  and  Dodson,  and,  sitting 
there,  began  the  brief  record  of  his  adventure. 

"  I  'm  all  right,"  he  protested.  "  Say,  Dodson,  talking 
about  me  and  Samson  and  Balaam  being  some  friendly,  like 
you  said  before  this  play  came  up,  was  n't  that  a  pretty 
hearty  imitation  of  Samson  you  gave  when  you  were  trying 
to  pull  the  throttle  out  by  the  roots,  getting  away  from  that 
place  down  there? 

"  Last  glimpse  I  had  of  you  through  the  window,  while 
we  were  rolling  to  the  bottom  of  the  bank,  you  were  hunched 
up  like  you  were  pulling  down  front  porticos  and  expecting 
the  roofs  soon ! 

"  And  if  me  and  Camargo  are  going  to  win  with  that 
Balaam  play  I  put  up  yesterday  coming  home  on  his  burro, 
I  '11  have  to  be  getting  out  of  this  sick-factory  or  I  '11  lose 
my  pull  with  Camargo !  Give  me  my  clothes,  you  fellows, 
will  you?" 

"  Are  you  fit?  "  laughed  Dodson,  in  spite  of  his  deep  con- 

[114] 


A      JAB      AT      JIM      LUCERO 

i 

cern,  as  McPeltrie  ruefully  fondled  his  blackened  eye  and 
swollen  face. 

"  Sure  I  'm  fit !  Let  Js  have  them  and  we  '11  go !  I  'm  not 
hurt  much.  The  gang  treated  me  fine  —  pretty  near.  You 
see,  I  thought  I  had  that  fellow  safe  outheld  and  just  about 
choked  helpless  when  I  yelled  to  you  to  pull  the  train  away 
from  them.  There  was  n't  any  reason  that  I  could  see 
why  I  couldn't  just  give  him  another  squeeze  or  two  and 
then  let  go  of  him  and  hop  on  the  hind  end,  or  somewheres, 
when  it  came  by.  The  little  cuss  was  tough  as  nails,  though, 
and  he  wiggled  loose  and  gave  me  a  short-arm  clip  in  the 
eye  that  put  me  clear  off  to  one  side  in  the  fuss,  and  then  by 
the  time  I  ought  to  been  getting  aboard,  the  rest  of  the  gang 
rode  up  and  began  mauling  me  right  sociable  for  a  while.  I 
did  n't  feel  able  to  leave  them,  at  the  time. 

"  Sure,  they  wanted  to  rope  me  up  and  shoot  me  full  of 
things,  but  that  little  cuss  that  came  to  see  us  on  the 
engine  seemed  to  be  bossing  the  j  ob  and  he  would  n't  have  it. 
I  heard  him  tell  them  that  he  had  no  notches  of  that  kind 
on  his  gun  and  did  n't  propose  having  any ;  they  'd  likely  get 
pretty  near  everything  but  money  for  this  job  anyway  and 
he  did  n't  mean  to  make  it  hanging,  or  something  about  like 
that. 

"  He 's  game  though,  all  right  enough !  They  finished 
by  chucking  me  up  behind  on  a  horse  and  rode  away  up  to  the 
edge  of  the  scrub  pine  and  throwed  me  off.  '  Tell  Abe 
Hazard  and  his  gang  to  come  and  get  us  if  they  want  us ! ' 
was  what  the  little  fellow  said  as  they  scattered  and  rode 
away.  And  that 's  how  old  Camargo  came  to  find  me  not 
much  interested  in  things,  when  he  came  along  with  his  wood 
train.  He  's  a  good  old  cuss,  after  all,  Camargo  is,  and  I 
needed  him  a  whole  lot,  about  then." 

[115] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

"  Well,  Abe  did,"  said  Dodson  quietly. 

"  Did  what?  "  said  McPeltrie. 

"  Wanted  them,"  said  Dodson.  "  And  he  went  out  and 
got  them;  leastways,  one  of  them,  and  he's  down  in  the 
carcel  now,  waiting  to  make  your  further  acquaintance. 
Abe  said  I  should  ask  you  when  you  could  come  down  and 
have  a  look  at  him  to  make  sure.  He  's  not  expecting  you 
to-day,  though." 

"  Right  now,  I  told  you !  Come  on  with  them  overalls  and 
stuff,  you  fellows !  I  'm  wanting  out,  I  say  !  " 

Out  he  went,  with  Dodson's  help,  and  when,  a  little  later, 
he  sat  facing  the  man  in  the  carcel,  his  fingers  wandered 
softly  over  the  dark  cushion  about  his  eye  and  the  nervous 
fingers  of  the  prisoner  performed  a  like  tender  office  for  his 
own  closed  optic,  while,  together,  they  regarded  one  another 
with  that  peculiar  blend  of  respect  and  curiosity  which  some- 
times marks  the  face  of  a  too  eager  youngster  who  has  just 
picked  up  a  strange  cat  and,  getting  himself  surprisingly 
clawed,  has  let  it  go  again. 

"  Pardner,"  said  McPeltrie  softly,  extending  his  hand  to- 
ward the  swarthy  little  man  of  the  faded  and  damaged  blue 
eyes,  when  the  patience  of  Hazard,  Dodson,  Enderby,  and 
the  others  had  been  strained  almost  to  the  point  of  dis- 
courteous questioning.  "  Pardner,  you  are  sure  in  a  no- 
account  sort  of  business,  but  I  'd  like  to  shake  hands  with 
you.  I  'm  harboring  a  whole  heap  of  respect  for  a  man  of 
your  size  that  can  knock  me  out  when  I  've  got  him  down ! 
Would  you  mind  saying  your  name? "  he  concluded  as 
their  hands  closed  upon  each  other. 

"  Jim  Lucero,"  said  the  little  man,  while  a  sickly  grin 

[116] 


A      JAB       AT       JIM       LUCERO 

struggled  for  a  place  among  his  disarranged  features.  "  I 
reckon  I  ain't  in  that  business  you  allude  to,  no  more  now, 
the  way  things  is  stacking  up." 

"  Well,  gee-whillikens ! "  exclaimed  McPeltrie,  slowly  re- 
leasing Lucero's  hand  and  staring  questioningly  at  Enderby. 
The  old  man  simply  nodded. 

"  I  'm  not  so  mighty  sure  I  'd  do  it  again,"  McPeltrie 
confided  to  Enderby  and  Dodson  when  they  had  reached  the 
open  air,  "  but  I  had  to  have  a  jab  at  him,  if  I  died.  I  just 
could  n't  help  it.  I  was  built  that  way." 

"  You  sure  were,"  admitted  Dodson,  without  hesitation, 
but,  as  I  said,  when  Pap,  here,  was  talking  the  other  day, 
I  had  n't  noticed  it,  special,  up  to  that  time." 

Enderby  said  nothing,  although  he  again  nodded  wisely 
in  general  acquiescence,  as  they  turned  away. 


[117] 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  VOICES 

BELLAIR,  roundhouse  foreman  at  the  east  end  of  the 
middle  prairie  division,  looking  over  the  shoulder  of 
the  man  at  the  work-book,  remarked: 

"  That  name  of  yours,  Braintree,  always  makes  me  think 
of  axle-grease  and  vinegar." 

"  Uh-huh,"  replied  Braintree  without  looking  up  from  his 
writing.  "  Depends  some  on  what  a  fellow  thinks  with. 
When  they  first  pulled  down  on  that  name-handle  of  yours,  I 
reckon  they  did  n't  know  whether  they  were  going  to  ring  or 
whistle!" 

Malcolm  Z.  Braintree  was  the  last  speaker's  name  and  no 
matter  how  long  the  trip  or  how  weary  he  might  be,  when 
he  turned  his  engine  in  at  the  end  of  the  run  and  went  to 
the  roundhouse  to  put  his  work-report  upon  the  book,  he 
signed  it  in  full ;  also,  what  he  wrote  in  the  report  was  always 
found  to  be  correct,  which  is  a  somewhat  unusual  condition. 

Harper,  recently  called  back  from  Villa  Rica,  had  just 
come  out  from  Chicago  to  try  out  the  speed  and  power  of 
some  new  locomotives.  He  was  now  overhauling  some  shin- 
ing instruments  nearby  and  he  turned  to  look  searchingly  at 
Braintree  through  the  smoky  twilight  of  the  roundhouse. 

He  had  left  the  motive  power  office  a  few  minutes  before, 
and  his  request  for  a  good  man  to  run  the  fast  engines  for 
test  had  brought  from  the  superintendent  of  motive  power 
one  word :  "  Braintree." 

[118] 


THE  VOICES 

Naturally,  he  was  curious  to  see  the  man  who  would  often 
hold  the  power  of  life  and  death  over  him,  in  the  days  just 
ahead,  and  he  looked  long  and  carefully  at  Braintree,  while 
the  engineer  chatted  some  further  nonsense,  and  talked 
gravely  of  some  work,  with  the  foreman. 

The  result  of  his  study  of  Braintree  seemed  to  please  and 
also  to  puzzle  him.  This  choice  of  an  engineer  meant  a 
great  deal  to  Harper,  who  was  to  ride  upon  the  cylinders  of 
the  engine  at  high  speed.  Working  in  a  flimsy  little  lookout- 
house  and  busy  with  his  quick-acting  instruments,  he  would 
have  scant  time  to  watch  the  track,  and  his  safety  would 
depend  greatly  upon  the  engineer. 

Braintree's  record  of  engine-running  was  long  and  good. 
His  heavy  head  sat  startlingly  upon  his  tall  wiry  shape,  and 
there  was  a  set  of  the  jaw  and  a  smouldering  glow  of  the 
eyes,  deep-set  in  his  sombre  face,  that  hung  disturbingly  in 
Harper's  mental  impression  of  him.  He  was  again  keenly 
conscious  of  it  when  he  met  Braintree  in  the  roundhouse  next 
day,  to  prepare  for  the  test  run  of  the  Sunflower  Mail; 
but  their  relations  were,  from  the  beginning,  so  cordial  and 
open  that  Harper  forgot  all  else  in  the  absorbing  interest  of 
locating  his  instruments  upon  the  magnificent  engine. 

When  the  day  was  done,  he  was  ready,  with  the  toy-like 
apparatus,  to  record  epics  of  speed  and  power  greater  than 
those  which,  in  another  age,  were  attributed  only  to  the 
gods.  But  these  flights  were  to  reduce  the  poetry  of  Titanic 
action  to  the  prosaic  terms  of  time  and  money.  Those,  in- 
deed, were  the  terms  in  which  Harper  was  thinking,  and  like- 
wise, they  are  the  terms  with  which  the  mind  of  Braintree 
was  supposed  to  be  constantly  engaged.  But  no  book  of 
rules  has  ever  wholly  controlled  the  workings  of  a  man's 
mind  and,  doubtless,  none  ever  will. 

[119] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

When  the  big  racer  backed  through  the  high  arch  of  the 
roundhouse  door,  next  morning,  and  her  wheels  clucked  ag- 
gressively across  the  turn-table,  Braintree  leaned  from  the 
cab  window,  smiling  back  proudly  upon  her  handsome  length, 
and  tolerantly  upon  Harper  and  all  of  his  works. 

Harper's  various  devices  and  adjustments  engaged  his 
attention  at  the  forward  end  of  the  foot-board,  until  the 
engine  settled  against  the  train  couplings,  at  the  station, 
and  was  attached  to  "  The  Sunflower,"  in  all  its  glory. 

Braintree  came  down  from  the  cab  for  a  final  look  below, 
and  standing  by  the  web-like  centre  of  the  forward  driving- 
wheel,  the  top  of  whose  tread  he  could  just  reach,  he  leaned 
there  looking  at  the  test  apparatus,  and  finally  at  Harper's 
intent  face  above  him.  "  I  thought,  when  I  first  saw  you, 
that  you  were  one  of  us,"  he  remarked,  presently,  "  but  I  'm 
not  so  sure." 

"  Yes,"  said  Harper,  abstractedly  bending  over  his  instru- 
ments. "Yes.  Fine-looking  engine,  eh?" 

"  She  will  go  some,"  replied  Braintree,  with  a  note  of 
disappointment,  and  resumed  his  oiling. 

Before  he  climbed  back  into  the  cab,  he  came  around  the 
pilot  and,  looking  earnestly  up  to  Harper,  said :  "  Look 
out  for  yourself,  after  we  get  going.  There  will  be  a  killing 
on  the  line  to-day ;  but  it  may  be  none  of  ours." 

"  That 's  cheerful !  How  do  you  know  ?  "  Harper  asked, 
with  sudden  interest. 

"  I  '11  be  watching;  but  you  keep  looking  too,"  said  Brain- 
tree  evasively,  and  went  back  to  his  place  in  the  locomotive. 

When  they  trailed  away  over  the  bluffs,  that  afternoon, 
chasing  the  declining  sun,  Kansas  lay  baking  in  the  slug- 
gish breath  of  a  hot  wind.  The  heat  from  the  front  end  of 

[120] 


THE  VOICES 

the  engine,  the  rays  of  the  sun,  and  the  blistering  dust,  cut 
into  Harper's  vitality  deeply,  and  he  felt  little  of  the  fierce 
joy  of  good  going,  until  the  engine's  speed,  steadily  mount- 
ing, had  created  a  seeming  gale  that  drowned  the  strident 
sounds  of  the  grasshoppers  in  the  .weedy  embankments,  and 
intoned  the  bubbling  rhythm  of  her  quick  soft  exhaust. 
Gnarled  globes  of  the  pretty  green  Osage  apples  were  turn- 
ing brown  and  sear  in  the  miles  of  high  hedges  by  the  track, 
and  in  endless  fields  the  tall  beaded  fronds  of  Kaffir-corn 
were  purpling,  here  and  there. 

With  the  swift-rushing  air  pouring  down  and  about  him, 
he  began  to  busy  himself  with  cut-offs,  pyrometer,  and 
vacuum  gauge,  with  speed  records  and  indicator,  and  soon 
was  living  the  life  of  the  engine,  fascinated  by  its  well-nigh 
perfect  work.  When  he  had  need  to  signal  his  assistant  in 
the  cab,  or  Braintree  to  change  the  pace,  he  found  Braintree 
always  watching. 

The  engine  was  now  working  swiftly  and  smoothly,  and 
the  long  line  of  glistening  coaches  curled  true  in  its  shifting 
wake.  And  yet,  he  had  a  half-formed  sense  of  something 
forgotten  or  misplaced.  It  pressed  upon  him  constantly, 
and  finally,  in  a  lull  of  his  activities,  it  came  to  him  clearly. 
It  was  the  whistle  that  had  been  pressing  for  notice.  Why? 
He  did  not  know ;  was  only  aware  of  having  heard  it,  once  or 
twice,  in  a  remote  way,  since  they  started. 

But  now,  he  straightened  until  his  face  came  above  the  top 
level  of  the  wind  shelter  in  which  he  rode,  and  looked  ahead 
down  the  track  that  was  rushing  dizzily  under  him  in  a  haze 
of  mottled  gray  and  brown.  He  looked  intently  from  the 
careening  box,  until  a  whistling-post  pushed  up  its  face  of 
white  and  black  on  the  seared  bank  far  ahead,  and  seemed 

[121] 


I 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

to  come  gliding  toward  him.  Then  he  looked  back  at  Brain- 
tree  in  the  cab  and  noted  that  the  engineer  was  looking 
straight  down  the  line  ahead. 

When  the  engine  had  thrust  swiftly  beneath  her  half  the 
distance  to  the  whistling-post,  Braintree's  hand  went  slowly 
up  to  the  whistle-rod  above  his  head.  He  grasped  it  and, 
turning,  stood  for  an  instant  looking  far  out  across  the 
rolling  country.  Then  he  drew  down  until  the  whistle  an- 
swered. 

The  first  two  long  blasts  of  the  familiar  crossing-signal 
moaned  forth  in  regular  order  and  were  regularly  followed 
by  one  of  two  short  blasts  required.  But  the  last  short 
blast  did  not  sound  in  its  period,  and  Braintree's  hand  hung 
heavy  upon  the  rod. 

His  head  was  bowed  low,  his  chin  upon  his  breast,  and  his 
attitude  that  of  intent  listening.  Harper  caught  a  glimpse 
of  his  assistant's  face,  up  behind  Braintree  in  the  rolling 
and  rushing  cab,  looking  in  startled  wonder  at  the  engineer's 
bowed  head.  Then,  just  as  the  engine  shot  by  the  whistling- 
post,  exactly  at  the  moment  of  passing,  the  last  short  call 
from  the  whistle  boomed  forth,  sudden  and  sharp  as  the 
bursting  of  a  bomb,  and  Braintree,  with  a  smile,  resumed  his 
seat  at  the  window. 

Harper  crowded  his  fluttering  cap  closer  upon  his  head, 
and  looked  questioningly  at  Braintree,  but  with  no  answer- 
ing smile.  It  had  sounded,  at  the  last,  uncomfortably  like 
an  emergency  stop  signal. 

"  That 's  it,"  he  muttered,  turning  again  to  his  work  in 
the  swirl  of  twisting  winds  that  fought  about  him  and  tried 
to  wrest  each  fluttering  slip  of  paper  from  his  steady  fingers. 
"  It  is  that  hanging  off  on  the  last  pull  of  the  whistle  that 

[122] 


THE  VOICES 

has  been  bothering  me.  Just  because  it  was  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary, I  suppose.  Don't  like  it." 

But,  dashing  down  the  long  straight  lead  just  then,  into  the 
wooded  hollow  in  which  they  crossed  the  Little  Gopher 
Creek,  came  a  burst  of  speed  that  gave  the  conditions  he  was 
working  for,  and  in  the  absorption  of  recording  results,  he 
forgot  his  first  impulse  to  go  back  along  the  run-board  and 
learn  more  about  the  whistle  performance.  Climbing  the 
opposing  heavy  grade  beyond  the  creek,  and  again  dashing 
down  into  the  hollow  in  which  ran  the  Big  Gopher,  gave  him 
further  hurried  opportunities,  and  when  they  rounded  the 
great  curve  through  close-standing  woods  near  Song,  at  a 
pace  that  drove  the  air  stranglingly  into  Harper's  lungs,  and 
puffed  his  cheeks  and  stung  his  eyes,  his  work,  for  the  trip, 
was  done. 

He  was  standing  at  the  front  of  his  airy  shelter  on  the 
cylinder,  with  arms  folded  upon  its  front  wall,  elated  by 
this  first  performance  and  laughing  in  his  heart  for  very 
glee  of  life  and  motion  in  the  fleeting  world  that  spun  widely 
around  at  either  side  and  constantly  closed  in  at  the  rear  of 
them. 

They  were  running  into  the  eye  of  the  setting  sun  and 
as  they  ran  from  timber  to  open,  far  to  the  south  a  wood- 
dove  came  homing  rapidly,  at  right-angles  to  the  track.  Its 
graceful  flight  caught  Harper's  eye  and  held  him  spellbound 
with  the  strange  contest  of  speed,  when  it  became  apparent 
that  the  bird  was  veering  steadily,  to  cross  low  before  the 
flying  train. 

The  quick,  folding  movement  of  the  bird's  wings  carried 
it  nearer  with  surprising  speed  and  the  angle  between  its 
course  and  that  of  the  engine  narrowed  until  Harper  half 

[123] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

lost  the  reality  of  his  surroundings,  feeling  himself  an  atom 
being  hurled  to  meet  that  other  atom  in  mid-air,  until  he 
could  have  cried  out  in  warning  to  the  bird.  Like  a  dart, 
at  the  last,  it  made  its  final  effort.  The  angle  closed  its 
acute  point  upon  the  front  of  Harper's  wooden  shelter. 
The  dusty  little  traveller  failed,  by  a  hand's  breadth,  to  pass, 
and  struck  with  a  crashing  thud  and  a  puff  of  alkali  dust, 
just  out  of  reach  of  Harper's  outstretched  hand.  It  re- 
bounded without  a  struggle,  into  the  ditch,  motionless. 

The  little  tragedy  suddenly  let  down  the  ecstasy  of  Har- 
per's wild  pleasure,  and  dismounting  his  instruments  he  made 
his  way  back  along  the  reeling  foot-board  and  into  the  cab, 
with  a  sobered  face.  The  instant  snuffing  out  of  the  vital 
spark  is  appalling  in  any  guise. 

Braintree  closed  the  cab  door  after  him  and  silently  made 
room  for  him  upon  the  seat-cushion.  But,  when  they  had 
glided  into  the  division  point,  a  few  minutes  later,  and  the 
engine  had  come  to  a  halt,  he  glanced  back  along  the  rap- 
idly emptying  coaches,  and  turning  to  Harper  said  gravely : 
"  That  was  it." 

And,  somehow,  Harper  understood. 

"  It  was  the  killing,"  said  Braintree  later  in  the  evening, 
when  they  sat  in  the  sultry  gloom  before  their  little  hotel. 

"  How  did  you  know,  this  morning?  "  Harper  slowly  asked. 

"  The  Voices,"  came  the  quiet  but  disturbing  reply. 

"Eh?"  said  Harper. 

"  Know  what  lies  under  that  spot  where  the  dove  struck 
the  ditch?  No,  nor  anybody  else  but  Old  Man  Lawrence,  the 
wreck  foreman,  and  he  is  not  telling  much.  But  he  has 
many  a  queer  cache  along  the  line. 

"That's  where  the  mails  came  together,  five  years  ago. 
Full  speed  on  the  big  curve.  Could  n't  see  each  other,  until 


THE  VOICES 

the  west-bound  cleared  the  woods;  same  train  as  we  were  to- 
day. The  operator  at  Song  forgot,  likely,  to  turn  the  board 
on  the  east-bound,  until  the  engine  had  gone  by.  He  always 
said  he  turned  it  red,  but  when  you  see  Billy  Angel  wheeling 
himself  around,  with  no  legs  to  speak  of,  if  you  can  get 
him  to  talk,  he  will  tell  you  that  the  board  was  white,  for 
clear,  when  he  shot  by,  running  the  engine  on  the  mail  east. 

"  Billy  is  the  only  one  that  is  left  to  tell  it.  Twelve 
others,  of  the  train  and  engine  crews,  all  went,  and  a  lot  of 
the  passengers.  They  buried  by  the  tracks  most  of  the 
rubbish  that  didn't  burn.  You  couldn't  expect  Old  Law- 
rence would  sort  small  pieces  in  clearing  up  a  double  mail 
wreck,  with  the  main  line  blocked  —  he  dare  n't." 

"  And  the  voices  ?  "  hazarded  Harper. 

A  curdling  cry,  from  a  burr-oak  across  the  way,  shivered 
the  humid  air  in  answer,  and  brought  the  legs  of  Braintree's 
chair  to  the  pavement,  with  a  thud. 

"Ah!"  he  ejaculated,  rising. 

When  the  velvet  fluff  of  wings  through  the  intense  dark? 
ness  announced  the  creature's  flight,  he  resumed  his  seat  with 
a  disquieted  air  and  slowly  fanned  himself  with  his  hat. 

"  That 's  no  good  to  anybody,  that  kind  of  bird,  and  you 
can  look  for  trouble  —  if  we  hear  from  the  boys. 

"  I  knew  all  of  those  boys ;  grew  up  with  some  of  them, 
and  they  belonged  to  our  Society  for  Research.  Not  a 
day  in  the  cab,  since  that  wreck  at  Song,  and  not  a  meeting 
of  the  society,  but  that  they  have  come  and  talked  to  me. 

"  When  there  is  trouble  coming  I  '11  be  sure  to  know  it 
in  time.  But  you  keep  a-looking,  like  I  told  you  to-day." 

In  the  gloom  and  the  ensuing  silence  the  situation,  to  Har- 
per's mind,  took  on  sinister  proportions.  Might  the  voices 
some  time  tell  Braintree  to  start  without  orders,  as  well  as  to 

[125] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

stop?  He  decided  to  make  some  inquiries  when  they  got 
back  to  the  other  division  end.  In  the  broad  sunlight  of  the 
next  morning,  with  Braintree  jovial  and  happy  and  the  air 
cleared  and  alive  with  a  cool  draft  from  the  far  Colorado 
snow-caps,  the  thing  looked  different,  and  Harper  thought 
better  of  his  decision. 

That  day  the  engine  was  turned  back  on  a  freight  drag, 
to  test  her  heaviest  workings,  and  the  next  day  they  went 
out  for  the  final  fast  run  on  the  Sunflower  Mail.  It  came 
a  gem  of  a  day,  with  Kansas  smiling  thankfulness  for  the 
previous  night's  drenching  rain.  It  was  the  day  of  days  for 
many  Kansans,  and  one  of  the  yearly  red-letter  days  for  the 
railroad.  The  Grange  was  sending  its  happy  and  prosper- 
ous thousands  over  the  line,  to  the  annual  picnic  among  the 
big  oaks  near  Song. 

The  Sunflower  Mail,  for  convenient  handling  of  the 
crowds,  was  being  run  in  three  sections.  The  bands  of  the 
first  section,  just  arrived,  were  blaring  in  happy  rivalry, 
and  the  twelve  coaches  were  gay  with  streamers  and  laughing 
faces,  crowding  from  the  windows  and  forward  platforms. 
Braintree  and  his  fireman,  with  Harper  and  his  assistant 
aboard,  crossed  the  turn-table  and  drew  down  past  the  cheer- 
ing train-load,  to  the  station,  to  be  ready  to  take  out  the 
second  section,  when  it  came  in  as  the  regular  mail  train. 
To  follow  them,  therefore,  was  coming  the  third  section  of 
"  The  Sunflower,"  loaded,  like  the  first  section,  with  happy 
and  excited  people. 

Presently,  the  long  line  of  loaded  coaches  in  the  first  sec- 
tion began  slipping  quietly  past  the  test  engine,  and  each 
coach-load  cheered  gayly  to  the  crew  on  Braintree's  strange- 
looking  engine.  They  waved  a  laughing  farewell,  as  the  last 
coach  drew  by,  and  the  lone  flagman  on  the  rear  platform 

[126] 


THE  VOICES 

smiled  and  waved  in  sympathy.  The  floating  strains  of  the 
bands  grew  fainter  and  fainter  and  at  last  were  lost  in  the 
rolling  din  that  drifted  back  from  their  engine,  on  the  rising 
breeze. 

The  real  mail  ran  a  few  minutes  late  to  where  Braintree 
got  it,  and  they  left  town  hurriedly  with  it.  The  semaphore 
arms  of  the  block-signal  system  fell  regularly,  far  ahead  of 
them,  showing  that  the  excursion  section  was  keeping  well 
out  of  the  way.  Braintree  was  at  his  best  and  Harper  was 
exultantly  absorbed  in  the  closure  of  the  important  series  of 
tests,  when  they  were  again  running  breathlessly  toward  the 
whistling-post,  east  of  the  crossing  and  the  woods  at  Song. 

The  peculiar  whistle-signalling  by  Braintree  had  in  the  sev- 
eral days  past  so  fixed  itself  in  Harper's  mind  that,  uncon- 
sciously, he  had  come  to  listen  for  the  last  short  blast  in  its 
unusual  sequence. 

While  he  was  hastily  taking  off  some  high-speed  diagrams 
and  consulting  his  gauges,  the  first  notes  of  the  crossing- 
signal  boomed  out,  and  just  as  he  set  his  senses  to  wait  for 
the  pause  before  the  last,  the  brake-shoes  clapped  down  upon 
the  truck  and  driving  wheels  with  a  crash,  and  the  sharp 
discharge  of  an  emergency  application  from  the  engineer's 
brake-valve  was  wafted  to  him  on  the  swift  wind  that  was  then 
blowing  in  the  direction  they  were  running.  But  no  final 
note  sounded  from  the  whistle. 

The  wheels  were  savagely  grinding  sand  upon  the  rails, 
but  turning  swiftly  forward.  A  glance  at  Braintree's 
straining  eyes,  staring  ahead  onto  the  apparently  empty 
curve,  sent  Harper  climbing  over  the  hand-rail  and  up  the 
narrow  step  on  the  side  of  the  boiler,  to  flatten  himself  low 
behind  the  sand-dome,  on  top  of  the  rolling,  slippery  boiler- 
jacket. 

[127] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

As  he  crouched  there,  he  saw  the  top  of  the  smoke-stack 
disappear  into  the  crumpling  and  ripping  hood  of  a  pas- 
senger coach.  Then,  with  a  jumble  of  splinters  and  canvas 
roofing,  which  sat  for  a  moment  upon  it  like  a  burlesque 
crown,  it  turned  bottom-end  upward  and  slid  heavily  down 
the  side  of  the  smoke-arch  and  crunched  through  the  bot- 
tom of  his  wind  shelter,  to  the  engine  cylinder. 

A  chorus  of  shrieks  from  within  the  car  greeted  the 
grinding  impact  with  the  train,  which  Harper  had  not  yet 
clearly  seen,  and  the  hot  up-ended  smoke-stack  was  sending 
up  curling  wisps  of  smoke  from  the  spot  he  had  occupied  a 
few  moments  before.  But  they  were  stopped. 

When  he  arose  and  looked  ahead,  he  saw  the  battered  rear 
end  of  "  The  Sunflower's  "  first  section  thrust  a  few  feet 
ahead  of  them  by  the  shock,  but  no  blood  spilled  to  mar  its 
gala  day.  Braintree  was  sitting,  gray-faced  and  silent,  upon 
his  cushion. 

An  eighth  of  a  mile  back,  their  flagman  found  the  flagman 
who  had  been  sent  back  against  them  when  it  was  found  nec- 
essary to  re-enter  the  block-section,  after  once  clearing  it. 
He  lay  face  down  in  the  high  grass  beyond  the  ditch,  uncon- 
scious, from  some  human  ill,  tightly  clutching  the  red  flag 
which  was  all  but  hidden  beneath  him. 

Harper  never  would  talk  much  of  that  experience,  and  per- 
haps he  was  wise  therein.  But,  before  he  left  for  headquar- 
ters with  his  data,  he  said  to  Braintree :  "  Could  you  have 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  corner  of  that  flag  in  the  grass, 
Malcolm,  and  not  have  realized  it  at  the  time?  " 

"  The  flag  was  down ;  hidden ;  a  hundred  yards  beyond  the 
post.  I  braked  at  the  post,"  was  all  that  Braintree  answered. 


[128] 


CHAPTER  IX 
HARPER'S  ROUGH  NIGHT 

44  T_TT  ARPER,  you  better  get  on  Number  15  to-night  and 
A  A  go  out»'to  the  mountains.  Take  hold  of  an  A-45- 
class  engine -and  find  out  what  is  in  these  reports  of  no  steam, 
won't  go  anywhere,  and  hard  handling. 

"  I  have  my  ''own  opinion,  but  I  want  some  test  runs  made, 
and  a  straight-out  report  of  what  the  engines  will  do  and 
how  much  coal  and  water  it  takes  to  do  it." 

That  was- -the  simple  beginning  of  it,  about  nine  o'clock 
one  night  in  Chicago,  and  as  there  was  nothing  very  unusual 
in  such  unheralded  starting  upon  the  work  he  had  been  doing 
at  times,  Harper  made  his  brief  adieux,  climbed  aboard  the 
Overland  Express  about  ten  o'clock,  and  shortly  thereafter 
was  comfortably  asleep  in  his  berth. 

Throughout  the  greater  part  of  the  night  he  slept  on",  to 
the  regular  rataplan  of  the  hurrying  wheels  across  the  wide 
plains,  and  once  just  before 'the  myriad  stars  gave  up  their 
watching  above  the  great,  silent  expanses  which  were  steadily 
lifting  toward  the  distant  mountains,  he  aroused  and  looked 
sleepily  for  a  moment  upon  the  swiftly  circling  shadows  be- 
yond his  window  and  slept  again,,  with  no  intimation  that  he 
was  fairly,  launched  upon  the  way  of  one  of  his  most  stirring 
experiences. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day,  he  was  in  the  Villa 
Rica  yards  making  the  well-meaning  mistake,  as  he  was 
shortly  to  learn,  of  weighing  onto  the'' tender  of  a-  picked 
9  [129  ] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

engine  four  tons  of  coal,  and  no  more,  in  order  to  discourage 
its  too  free  use  upon  the  run  for  which  he  was  preparing,  and 
the  work  of  which  he  believed  he  had  carefully  estimated. 

"  Pardner,"  volunteered  the  yardmaster,  who  had  been 
watching  the  preparations  in  a  not  unfriendly  way,  "  if  you 
haul  five  hundred  tons  out  of  this  hole,  single,  and  drop  it 
down  to  Balceta,  with  one  of  these  big  engines,  they  '11  kill 
you ! " 

"  Not  handling  so  hard  as  all  that,  I  hope,"  said  Harper, 
smiling  down  upon  him  from  his  perch  upon  the  collar  of  the 
tender. 

"  I  Jm  not  meaning  the  engines !  "  replied  the  yardmaster, 
very  soberly,  as  he  turned  to  walk  away. 

The  sinister  import  of  the  calm  and  positive  statement 
prompted  the  question  that  rose  to  Harper's  lips. 

"  Nothing  of  that  sort  here,  is  there?  I  have  seen  no  sign 
of  it." 

"  There  's  only  a  few  of  them  strayed  in.  But,  keep  that 
in  your  mind,  if  you  are  bent  on  pulling  a  record  load,"  said 
the  man  upoTi  the  ground,  looking  steadily  up  into  Harper's 
ej'es. 

"  I  will ;  and  much  obliged,  then,"  responded  Harper. 
"  But,  you  can  tell  that  kind,  if  you  like,  that  if  I  go  off 
this  division  before  I  finish  what  I  came  for,  I  will  go  straight 
up ;  not  over  the  mountain  !  "  Which  quiet  and  earnest  reply 
was  about  the  nearest  approach  that  Harper  was  ever  known 
to  make  toward  boasting. 

Villa  Rica,  rather  far  out  in  the  rim  of  railroad  doings, 
was  sometimes  hard  put  to  it  for  men.  It  was  not  always 
possible  to  discriminate  as  closely  as  might  have  been  desir- 
able, and  therefore,  Villa  Rica  sometimes  drew  a  blank,  or 

[130] 


HARPER'S       ROUGH       NIGHT 

worse,  when  notable  gaps  in  a  man's  papers  had  to  be  over- 
looked or  winked  at,  for  the  sake  of  filling  a  needy  round- 
house board. 

"  Well,  I  believe  you,"  replied  the  yardmaster,  after  look- 
ing Harper  over  quite  carefully,  "  and  I  hope  you  will  make 
out  all  right  and  get  things  going  again,  so  we  stand  a  show 
to  keep  this  yard  cleared  out. 

"  But  that 's  not  saying  that  you  are  not  taking  some 
chances  by  jumping  in  here  just  now,  and  I  'm  telling  you 
the  more  so,  because  my  shirt  is  well  stiffened  on  my  back, 
right  now,  with  blood  that  was  fetched  by  a  chunk  that  some- 
body drove  into  me  from  the  roundhouse  door,  just  before 
daylight  this  morning ;  and  no  time,  yet,  to  attend  to  it. 

"  Back  up,  there ! "  he  suddenly  shouted  in  conclusion,  and 
his  arms  went  flailing  aloft  and  about,  like  the  arms  of  a  dis- 
turbed windmill,  as  the  switch  engine  came  scurrying  down 
through  the  yards,  unheeding  his  first  silent  signal. 

As  if  to  emphasize  the  yardmaster's  warning,  great  banks 
of  sullen-looking  clouds  began  pushing  their  keen  gray  edges 
higher  and  higher  above  the  western  rim  of  the  great  crater 
of  Villa  Rica,  like  gaunt  wolves  baring  their  fangs  at  sight 
of  a  sure  quarry,  as  Harper  sat  looking  admiringly  after  the 
gritty  veteran  of  the  yards,  whose  nerve  remained  unshaken 
by  so  small  a  thing  as  the  well-aimed  missile  of  an  assassin 
safely  hidden  by  the  night. 

When,  in  the  first  darkness  of  evening,  Harper  made  his 
way  down  through  the  yards  to  where  the  engine  stood 
coupled  to  its  short  and  heavy  train  of  dead  freight,  the  sky 
was  flaming  with  a  silent,  pulsing  glare  of  lightnings'  blazes, 
which,  one  moment,  set  the  vast  depression  in  the  mountains 
glowing  vivid  and  red,  and  in  the  next  left  it  steeped  in 

[131] 


MARK     E  N  D  E  R  B  Y  :     ENGINEER 

dense  blackness,  lighted  at  longer  intervals  by  blinding  zig- 
zags of  flame  too  distant  to  make  a  sound  in  the  nearer 
gulches. 

An  engineer,  whom  Harper  had  never  before  seen,  stood 
beside  the  engine,  in  sullen,  arrogant  pose,  his  fringed  buck- 
skin gauntlets  clutching  his  hips  with  a  wide  spread  of  the 
elbows,  looking  in  silent  disdain  at  the  new  machine.  The 
flame  of  his  torch  burned  steadily  upward  where  he  had  set 
it  upon  the  guides,  in  the  still,  surcharged  air,  and  a  single 
look  into  his  sneering  face  and  half-concealed  eyes  informed 
Harper  that  he  had  met  the  hostile  mood  of  a  man  as  threat- 
ening as  the  veiled  flashing  of  the  lurking  storm ;  which  im- 
pression was  not  long  lacking  confirmation. 

With  a  word  of  greeting,  Harper  handed  to  him  a  pass 
which  served  as  ready  credentials  at  such  times,  and  with  a 
scornful  glance  at  it,  the  man  returned  it,  saying  nothing, 
as  he  turned  his  back  squarely  and  ambled  a  step  or  two 
toward  the  pilot. 

"  Say !  "  he  blurted,  suddenly  wheeling  to  face  Harper. 
"  You  're  one  of  these  here  damned  experts,  I  understand. 
Here  's  brakes  on  this  engine  truck,  with  a  key  gone  out  of 
that  back  break-head !  Supposin'  that  shoe  drops  out ! 
Have  to  cut  'em  out,  wouldn't  we?  Huh?  How 'd  we  cut 
'em  out,  eh?  " 

Hostility  breeds  hostility  and  resentment  begets  its  like, 
in  human  nature,  and  Harper  was  not  superhuman,  even 
though  he  was  not  devoid  of  a  fair  measure  of  tolerance. 

The  man's  manner  plainly  said  that  he  well  knew  the 
answers  to  his  questions  and  quite  as  plainly  said  that  he 
believed  Harper  did  not  know ;  which  promptly  determined 
Harper  to  carry  on  the  rude  burlesque,  as  being  the  surest 
way  to  a  lasting  understanding  with  a  man  who','  he  believed, 

[132] 


HARPER'S       ROUGH       NIGHT 

was  for  some  reason  yielding  to  the  worst  that  was  in  him 
and  submerging  his  best. 

Therefore,  he  walked  over  to  the  engine  and  indicating 
the  train-line  valve,  said :  "  Maybe  we  could  open  that  up 
some,  could  n't  we?  " 

"Yes!  That's  so!  Didn't  notice  that!"  said  the  en- 
gineer, with  well-feigned  satisfaction.  "  But,  no ;  I  don't 
know,  either,  come  to  think.  Guess  that 's  only  the  train- 
line  cock,  ain't  it?  " 

"  Maybe  it  is,"  said  Harper,  with  a  poor  imitation  of  un- 
certainty. 

"  Yes,  it 's  the  train-line  cock,"  said  the  man.  "  Well, 
n'em  mind.  I  just  don't  see  the  triple,  but  we  could  cut  'em 
out  with  an  axe,  mebbe,  if  we  had  to.  We  '11  get  through 
somehow ! " 

With  which  wise  and  friendly  conclusion  he  picked  up  his 
torch  and  climbed  aboard,  leaving  Harper  standing  below, 
in  the  shifting  glare  and  gloom  of  the  hovering  storm. 

"  Say !  "  his  voice  quickly  rang  out  again,  as  his  angry 
face  appeared  at  the  cab  window.  "  Come  up  here  a  minute, 
young  fellow,  if  you  ain't  too  busy  !  I  don't  mind  pulling  all 
the  freight  in  this  yard,  but  I  'd  like  to  learn  how,  before  I 
go!" 

When  Harper,  now  somewhat  eager  for  the  further  de- 
velopment of  the  man's  crude  horseplay,  promptly  sprang 
for  the  step  and  mounted  the  cab,  the  engineer  was  looking 
knowingly  across  to  his  grinning  fireman  and  singing  stri- 
dently, "  O  Johnny-git-your-gun,  there  's  a  dude-in-the-gar- 
den ! "  which  he  broke  off  abruptly,  to  launch  at  once  upon  a 
further  quest  for  information. 

"  Say !  I  ain't  no  educated  man,  nor  no  expert,  and  I  'd 
like  to  know  what  that  thing  's  for,"  pointing  meanwhile  to 

[133] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

the  signal  diaphragm,  with  which  the  engine  was  fitted  for 
occasional  passenger  runs. 

"  That,"  said  Harper,  "  is  the  — " 

"  Oh,  well !  Ne'm  mind !  "  interrupted  the  other.  "  I  say 
we  '11  get  through,  some  way,  before  the  night 's  over,"  and 
slipping  down  from  his  seat-box  to  the  deck,  beside  Harper, 
he  slid  out  of  his  coat  and  tossed  it  upon  the  seat-box. 
Reaching  back  to  his  hip  pocket,  he  dragged  out  a  heavy  re- 
volver and  presented  it  suddenly,  swaying  it  rapidly  back  and 
forth  under  Harper's  nose,  as  the  gun  lay  upon  his  open 
palm. 

"  See  that,  pardner?  "  he  demanded  with  narrowing  eyes. 
"I'm  never  without  that  now.  I  just  lost  out,  over  in  the 
Panhandle,  before  I  come  here,  on  a  head-ender  deal  that 
was  n't  no  fault  of  mine.  But  the  next  man  that  goes  up 
against  me,  wrong,  gets  it  right  where  he  lives !  " 

"  I  see,"  said  Harper.  With  which  the  engineer  turned 
and  stabbed  the  gun,  muzzle  down,  into  his  opened  seat-box, 
with  a  move  like  the  driving  home  of  a  dirk. 

"  Climb  up  over  there  and  make  yourself  at  home,  being  's 
you  're  going  with  us,"  he  advised,  while  savagely  girding  on 
his  overalls.  And  to  the  fireman : 

"  Grinning  don't  crack  no  coal,  Bo !  You  better  get  a 
grind  onto  your  fire,  for  that '  shack  '  at  the  far  end  has  been 
swinging  a  high-ball,  continuous,  for  the  last  half-minute, 
and  we  're  a-going  now !  " 

"  Fire 's  all  right,  hombre,"  retorted  the  fireman,  whose 
face  suddenly  assumed  an  expression  of  resentment  and 
hatred,  quite  as  bitter  as  that  of  the  engineer. 

In  a  moment  more,  the  engineer  was  upon  his  seat-box, 
with  the  lithe  movement  of  a  mountain  cat.  He  thrust  his 
head  and  shoulders  far  out  of  the  cab  window,  in  a  backward 

[134] 


HARPER'S       ROUGH       NIGHT 

glance  along  the  train,  and  smiled  a  wide  and  bitter  smile 
that  set  his  full  white  teeth  gleaming  in  the  light  of  the 
flaming  sky,  as  he  turned  and  opened  the  throttle  with  a 
strong  and  skilful  grasp. 

From  the  throttle  lever,  his  hand  swung  automatically  to 
the  dangling  whistle-rod  and  as  the  slack  ran  slowly  out  of 
the  train  two  quick,  fierce  blasts  from  the  whistle  cut  the 
threatening  silence  of  the  great  crater  and  announced  the 
start  up  the  long  grade. 

And,  at  the  rear  end,  just  when  the  marker-lights  of  the 
caboose  lurched  easily  forward  and  joined  in  the  onward 
movement  of  the  train,  the  big  bulk  of  the  train-master 
loomed  out  of  the  darkness,  during  a  lull  of  the  lightning's 
play,  and  swung  aboard,  in  accord  with  orders  he  had  pre- 
viously received,  to  make  the  trip  on  the  test  train. 

Stung  by  the  insolent  ring  of  the  demand  which  the  engi- 
neer had  made  upon  him  at  starting,  the  fireman  charged  coal 
into  the  fire-box  at  a  rate  that  boded  ill  for  Harper's  reck- 
oning, but  Harper,  in  the  quick  satisfaction  of  hearing  the 
resulting  discharge  of  steam  from  the  safety  valve,  even 
while  the  engine  was  working  its  hardest  up  the  grade,  said 
nothing  to  stay  the  extravagant  work. 

"  Good  steamer ! "  he  mentally  noted,  and  offered  no  ob- 
jection to  the  merciless  beating  which  the  engine  was  receiv- 
ing from  the  engineer. 

They  climbed  the  steep  grade  in  less  than  schedule  time, 
which  fact  prompted  Harper's  further  mental  comment : 
"  Good  goer ! " 

When  they  started  down  the  first  favoring  grade  beyond 
the  rim  of  the  Villa  Rica  crater,  Harper's  eyes  were  fixed 
steadily  upon  the  figure  of  the  engineer,  now  dimly  outlined 
in  the  cab  lights  and  again  clear-cut  and  looming  blackly 

[135] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

against  the  framed  square  of  fiery  sky  which  the  cab  window 
intermittently  showed. 

Harper's  observation  was  not  long  unrewarded.  The 
man's  foot  shot  out  and  fixed  itself  firmly  against  the  boiler- 
head,  as  he  reached  for  the  reverse  lever.  When  he  guard- 
edly unlatched  and  dropped  the  lever  down  a  few  notches  in 
the  quadrant,  for  the  drift  down  the  grade,  in  spite  of  the 
curved,  springing  arc  of  his  powerful,  bent  arm,  his  strong 
body  was  set  quivering  and  shaking  by  the  quick  struggling 
of  the  lever,  much  as  a  strong  oak  shivers  above  the  last 
deadly  strokes  of  the  woodsman's  axe.  Only  the  man's  great 
strength  and  skill  kept  the  lever  within  his  grasp  until  he 
latched  it  again  where  he  wanted  it. 

"  True  bill !  "  was  Harper's  silent  note.  "  Hard  handling, 
sure  enough." 

While  they  ran  the  distance  to  the  flat  at  the  bottom  of  a 
short  sag  ahead,  he  went  over  the  design  of  the  gear,  point 
by  point,  as  he  remembered  it,  and  considered  his  later  rec- 
ommendation of  the  remedy.  And  at  the  bottom  of  the 
grade  came  the  thing  he  was  expecting.  Had  he  not  been 
expectant  and  ready,  there  would  probably  have  been  little 
of  this  tale  to  tell,  except  the  story  of  a  man  thrown,  bat- 
tered and  bleeding,  through  the  cab  door,  to  the  run-board, 
or  the  embankment  whirling  along  below. 

"  Say ! "  the  engineer  called,  commandingly,  with  a  beck- 
oning, backward  jerk  of  the  head. 

Harper  pivoted  around  on  the  seat-box  and  sprang  across 
the  deck,  from  step  to  step,  as  the  engineer  swung  his  leg 
clear  of  the  lever  and  faced  toward  him. 

"  Where  would  you  set  that  lever  for  a  run  across  the  flat, 
at  this  speed?  Let's  see  you  hook  her  up,  will  you?  "  was 

[136] 


HARPER'S       ROUGH       NIGHT 

the  greeting  that  met  him,  accompanied  by  a  crafty  side- 
glance. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  Harper  seated  himself 
upon  the  forward  edge  of  the  seat-box  and  bracing  for  the 
struggle  which  he  knew  would  instantly  follow,  unhooked  the 
lever  and  transferred  its  deadly  menace  from  the  quadrant 
latch  to  his  own  lithe  arms  and  curving  back. 

Twice,  he  drew  his  full  strength  upon  the  threshing,  quiv- 
ering bar  and  twice  it  pulled  him  from  the  seat-box  and 
jammed  him  back  again  upon  it.  The  engine  cab,  with  its 
dim  lights  and  fixtures,  seemed  shaken  into  a  dancing,  gar- 
bled mass  before  his  straining  eyes,  and  the  lightning-riven 
darkness  in  the  valley  ahead  of  the  engine  appeared  to  be 
scintillating  with  brilliant  points  of  white  light,  which  were 
not  of  the  storm's  making,  in  the  following  moments  of  un- 
certainty, while  the  struggle  with  the  freed  lever  continued. 

With  a  final  backward  lunge,  born  of  shame,  anger,  and 
determination,  he  overbalanced  the  lever  in  the  springing 
poise  in  which  he  had  with  difficulty  held  it,  and  then  felt  the 
welcome  snap  of  the  latch,  as  it  settled  home  in  one  of  the 
upper  notches  of  the  quadrant. 

"  About  there ! "  he  said,  with  shortened  breath,  and 
stepped  back  to  the  fireman's  box  a  shade  less  nimbly  than 
he  came  from  it. 

For  an  hour,  they  labored  heavily  or  sped  swiftly  over 
the  ridges  and  sags  of  the  foothills  that  lie  between  Villa 
Rica  and  the  Sacromonte  country,  with  the  coming  storm 
settling  more  threateningly  toward  them  and  the  coal  pile 
melting  rapidly  away  before  the  fireman's  angry  onslaught. 

At  the  little  telegraph  station  in  the  lonely  valley  of  the 
Sacromonte,  a  red  light  turned  above  the  dismounted  box- 

[137] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

car  body,  which  then  served  as  office,  home,  and  castle  for 
its  solitary  operator,  stopped  them  with  an  order  to  increase 
the  train  to  full  rating  for  that  part  of  the  division,  by  tak- 
ing on  a  string  of  empty  stock  cars  from  the  Sacromonte 
siding ;  also,  not  to  exceed  six  miles  an  hour  over  Bridge 
Eighty-nine,  a  half -hour's  run  ahead. 

In  silence,  the  additional  burden  was  taken  on,  and,  with 
no  word  spoken,  the  train  was  started  with  a  sudden  lurch 
that  broke  it  in  two  at  the  middle. 

Again  coupled,  it  was  again  broken  by  the  same  method, 
and  the  engineer  sat  in  sullen  silence  while  the  coupling  was 
made  and  the  air  was  pumped  up. 

Just  when  the  engineer's  hand  shot  out  and  settled  in  a 
close  grip  of  the  throttle  lever,  and  all  was  ready  for  a  third 
start  and,  probably,  a  third  fiasco,  the  train-master's  big,  an- 
gular face  loomed  up  in  the  gangway  of  the  engine. 

"  Wait  a  second,  since  you  are  stopped ! "  said  he  quietly, 
and  the  engineer's  hand  dropped  listlessly  from  the  lever. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  have  played  horse  long  enough,  for 
once  ?  You  bet,  you  have ! "  pursued  the  train-master,  in 
fierce,  low  tones  of  repressed  anger.  "  Now,  I  want  you  to 
pull  this  train  out  of  here  in  one  piece,  or  get  off  the  engine, 
right  now  !  Understand  ?  " 

The  lightning  was  writhing  and  gleaming  around  the  high, 
white  head  of  Sacromonte  and  thunder  tones  were  begin- 
ning to  boom  sullenly  among  the  distant  crags.  But  the 
lurid  lights  of  the  mountain-top  were  not  more  deadly  in 
their  menace  than  the  look  of  sudden  hatred  which  flashed 
into  the  engineer's  face,  at  the  sound  of  the  train-master's 
ultimatum. 

His  hand  moved  stealthily  down  toward  the  seat-box,  as 
he  shifted  his  weight  from  the  lid,  and  Harper,  with  quick 

[138] 


HARPER'S       ROUGH       NIGHT 

remembrance  of  the  night's  ominous  beginning  at  Villa  Rica, 
crouched  and  tightened  his  trained  muscles  for  a  leap  across 
the  cab. 

But  an  inclination  to  temporize  seemed  to  overmaster  the 
engineer's  first  impulse  and  he  straightened  up  upon  his  seat- 
box,  without  relaxing  his  fixed  stare  into  the  train-master's 
eyes. 

"  I  can  pull  them,  if  any  man  you  've  got  can,"  he  gritted 
through  his  clenched  teeth.  "  But  you  know  as  well  as  I 
do,  that  the  couplings  are  rotten  weak  for  this  load ! " 

"  I  know  the  couplings !  I  know  the  load !  I  know  the 
engine !  And  I  know  that  you  can  pull  them.  Pull  them !  " 
replied  the  train-master,  tensely. 

With  that  terse  admonition,  he  stood  for  a  moment,  the 
big  loop  of  his  strong  lower  jaw  jutting  out  like  a  crag  in 
the  half-light  of  the  cab,  while  he  looked  straight  and  closely 
into  the  engineer's  eyes.  Then  he  backed  slowly  to  the  gang- 
way, dropped  heavily  down  the  steps,  and  disappeared  into 
the  darkness  below  the  engine. 

At  the  next  attempt,  the  engine  pulled  them  "  in  one  piece," 
but  at  a  rate  and  in  a  way  that  made  it  clear  to  Harper  that 
he  might  as  well  begin  heaving  coal  from  the  first  car  back  of 
the  tender  then  as  later  on,  if  he  wanted  to  escape  the  shame 
of  having  laid  out  the  road  by  weighing  on  a  short  allow- 
ance of  coal  at  the  start. 

When  he  had  put  across  the  lurching  gap  between  car  and 
tender  the  required  amount  of  coal  and  heaved  it  again,  down 
into  the  hopper,  he  resumed  his  place  in  the  engine  as  it  went 
drumming  swiftly  over  Bridge  Eighty-nine,  regardless  of 
the  "  slow  order,"  and  down  toward  the  mouth  of  the  gorge  of 
El  Soledad,  in  which  they  were  to  meet  and  pass  the  night 
express. 

[139] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

The  fury  of  the  man  at  the  throttle  had  apparently  in- 
creased with  the  growing  of  the  storm,  which  was  now  mut- 
tering and  circling  more  closely  down  toward  them. 

"  Say ! "  he  called,  as  Harper's  feet  landed  upon  the  deck. 
"  Did  you  know  that  fellow  was  riding  this  train  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Harper.     "  I  did  not." 

"  Well  it 's  a  good  thing  for  him  that  I  did  n't  have  a 
hundred  dollars  in  my  pocket,  when  he  made  that  break  about 
getting  off ! "  shouted  the  engineer,  keying  his  voice  above 
the  increasing  uproar  of  the  elements  and  the  medley  of 
noises  from  the  swift-moving  engine.  "  If  I  had,  he  'd 
a-gone  off  this  engine  with  a  busted  crown-sheet!  You  can 
bet  on  that,  pardner! 

"  Say !  You  give  me  a  hundred  dollars,"  he  continued 
wildly,  "  and  I  '11  turn  her  loose  to  hell  down  this  grade, 
wildcat;  and  you  stand  the  same  chance  I  do  for  a  hop-off! 
Give  me  ten  dollars,  and  I  '11  do  it !  "  he  shouted,  with  increas- 
ing fury,  as  Harper,  stepping  closer,  gazed  steadily  at  him 
and  made  no  reply. 

And  then,  in  the  sheer  madness  of  passion,  he  struck  the 
brake-valve  handle  to  a  full  release  with  a  single  sweep  of  his 
hand,  sprung  the  throttle  open  a  notch  or  two,  and  bent  for- 
ward over  the  reverse  lever,  fixed  in  the  habit  of  hooking  up 
for  greater  speed,  however  uselessly  then. 

Then  the  tempest,  deliberate  in  its  gathering  through  the 
progress  of  the  night,  grew  suddenly  to  its  final  fury  along 
the  mountain-crests,  and  swept,  thundering  and  bellowing, 
down  upon  them,  darting  vivid  tongues  of  flame  from  its 
swirling  deluge  of  waters.  And  out  of  the  lower  depths  of 
the  gorge  of  El  Soledad,  where  the  express  was  laboring  on 
heavily  to  meet  them,  came  other  rending  blasts,  as  yet  un- 
touched by  rain. 

[  140] 


HARPER'S       ROUGH       NIGHT 

Fiercer  winds  came  shrieking  down  from  the  ragged  peaks 
and  added  their  fury  to  the  fury  of  the  pass,  while  the  air 
snapped  and  crackled  with  its  surcharge  of  electricity,  and 
within  the  engine  the  man's  passion  seethed,  likewise,  to  its 
height. 

With  one  swift  movement,  Harper  reset  the  brakes,  and 
was  leaning  to  lay  a  close  clasp  upon  the  engineer's  arms, 
when  the  fierce,  rasping  sound  of  steam  escaping  from  the 
safety  valve  added  itself  to  the  din  of  sounds,  and,  unknown 
to  its  intent  riders,  the  big  engine  was  set  tingling  and  alive 
with  a  static  charge  of  electric  fluid,  from  the  heavily  charged 
air. 

Just  for  an  instant,  the  engineer's  cheek  touched  the  side 
of  the  swinging  whistle-rod,  as  he  clutched  the  reverse  lever 
and  tried  to  evade  Harper's  extended  hands,  but  in  that  in- 
stant he  received  a  stinging  static  shock,  which,  for  the 
moment,  robbed  his  arms  of  their  ultimate  strength. 

In  the  draft  of  a  breath,  the  lever  was  torn  from  his 
clutching,  loosened  fingers  and  swept  down,  like  a  flash  of 
light,  deeper  toward  the  corner;  then,  back,  as  swiftly.  It 
struck  him,  full  below  the  heart,  before  it  flashed,  ripping 
and  clattering,  down  over  the  teeth  of  the  quadrant  again, 
and  relatched  itself  in  the  corner. 

He  fell  back  from  the  numbing  blow,  into  Harper's  out- 
stretched arms ;  speechless,  breathless,  the  whites  of  his  up- 
turned eyes  ghastly  in  the  glare  of  the  incessant  lightning, 
as  Harper  lowered  him  quickly  to  the  deck,  with  the  help  of 
the  awed  fireman,  and  reached  up  to  close  the  throttle. 

Springing  to  the  deserted  seat-box,  Harper  tightened  his 
first  quick  hold  of  the  brakes  and  fought  the  train  down  again 
to  a  speed  which  presently  brought  it  safely  to  a  stop  above 
the  red  board  of  El  Soledad.  With  barely  the  regulation  ten 

[141] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

minutes  to  clear,  they  were  in  the  siding,  with  the  switch 
closed,  when  the  night  express  came  roaring  up  over  the  flat 
in  the  gorge,  with  no  evident  intention  of  stopping. 

When  the  red  board  failed  to  turn,  at  the  repeated  chal- 
lenge of  the  whistle,  however,  the  express  stopped  in  the 
wild  smother  of  the  storm  in  the  gulch,  and  shortly  the  down- 
fallen  engineer  was  being  borne  upon  one  of  its  litters,  from 
the  freight  engine  to  the  baggage  car,  while  the  swirling 
rain  beat  a  hollow,  irregular  tattoo  upon  the  tarpaulin  which 
covered  his  motionless  form,  and  the  flaming  lightnings 
waned,  like  the  spent  passion  of  the  man. 

"  Say ! "  he  gasped  faintly,  extending  his  hand  to  Harper, 
who  bent  above  him  in  the  car,  as  the  train  was  about  to 
take  up  its  interrupted  run  eastward,  and  toward  the  little 
hospital  at  Villa  Rica.  "  My  name  's  —  Wiggins.  You  're 
—  all  right. —  Nothing  pers'nal.  When  a  fellow  —  loses 
out  —  Raw  deal  —  You  know  —  Bad  —  bad. 

"  G'bye,  pardner  —  you  're  all  —  right,"  he  repeated 
weakly,  as  the  train  responded  slowly  to  the  first  resounding 
exhaust  from  the  express  engine  far  ahead. 

"  Good-bye,  brother,"  said  Harper,  with  a  friendly  grip  of 
the  extended  hand.  "  Don't  fret !  I  '11  see  you  at  the  hos- 
pital, in  a  day  or  so." 

Which  he  did,  backing  his  belief  in  the  final  supremacy 
of  the  better  side  of  the  man's  nature,  which  showed  so 
strongly  at  the  last ;  and  in  that  way,  supporting  his  opinion 
with  a  large  measure  of  his  good-will  and  a  fair  measure  of 
his  ready  money,  he  set  the  engineer,  in  due  time,  upon  his 
way,  with  hope  renewed  of  a  new  job  and  a  cleaner  record. 

All  of  which  lies  back  of  the  written  record  of  the  letter- 
file  in  which  reposes  the  commonplace  report  which  Harper 


HARPER'S       ROUGH       NIGHT 

sent  east,  next  morning  after  the  storm,  when  the  train  had 
been  safely  worked  down  into  Balceta  yards. 

"  There  appears  to  be  some  opposition,  on  account  of 
heavier  rating,"  he  wrote,  "  but  that  will  spend  itself,  shortly, 
I  believe. 

"  There  is  no  lack  of  steam ;  no  lack  of  good  going ;  and 
fuel  consumption  can  be  made  quite  satisfactory.  An  extra 
rough  night  has  left  that  point  to  be  proven,  however,  and 
shall  report  later  upon  it. 

"  The  charge  of  hard  handling  is  well  founded.  The  link- 
radius  being  short,  and  steam  pressure  high,  etc.,  etc.,  .  .  . 

"  I  would  recommend     .     .     ." 

Harper's  further  recommendations,  however,  are  not  now 
important. 


[  143  ] 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  PRODIGAL  SON 

FOLLOWING  closely  upon  Harper's  experience  with 
Wiggins,  the  embittered  engineer,  there  came  a  day  in 
which  arose  opportunity  much  greater  than  it  then  appeared. 
Out  of  kindliness  that  knew  no  other  motive,  he  that  day  cast 
a  bit  of  figurative  bread  upon  the  waters  which  was  to  return 
to  him  after  many  days  to  feed  his  worthy  ambition  most 
satisfyingly. 

Looking  back  from  the  engine,  along  the  inner  curve  of  a 
test  freight  train  which  Dodson  was  dragging  slowly  up  the 
grades  of  El  Soledad  Canyon  toward  Villa  Rica,  a  thrill  of 
pity  and  surprise  ran  through  Harper  at  what  he  saw.  The 
flap  of  a  ragged  coat  fluttered  from  the  truss  rods  under  the 
middle  of  a  car  well  back  in  the  train  and  below  the  tattered 
fringe  dangled  an  arm  and  hand,  trailing  among  the  loose 
stone  ballast. 

"  Have  a  look  from  this  side,  will  you,  Dodson  ?  "  Harper 
called  across  the  cab  when  he  had  definitely  made  out  the 
trailing  hand.  "  Looks  like  somebody  dragging  back  there. 
Better  stop,  would  n't  we?  " 

"  Can't  stop  here,  pardner,"  replied  Dodson  very  positively 
as  he  stepped  hastily  across,  "  unless  you  want  to  lose  the 
trip  and  double  the  mountain.  Never  start  them  again  on 
this  grade." 

"  Well,  that  is  certainly  the  last  word  in  truss-riding !  " 

[144] 


THE        PRODIGAL        SON 

exclaimed  Harper  as  Dodson  leaned  over  his  shoulder  and 
looked. 

A  small  lump  of  sandstone  shot  out  from  under  the  car 
and  went  hurtling  into  the  depths  of  the  canyon  while  the 
idly  dragging  hand  began  a  leisurely  grasping  for  another 
piece  of  ballast. 

"  Nothing  the  matter  with  that  fellow !  "  laughed  Dodson 
when  he  had  resumed  his  seat.  "  We  will  take  him  out  of 
that  when  we  stop  at  the  crest." 

The  reckless  young  wayfarer  was  taken  out  of  his  perilous 
position,  and  none  too  gently,  when  the  halt  was  made  just 
before  descending  into  Villa  Rica.  Somewhat  arrogant, 
somewhat  repellent,  refusing  even  so  much  as  to  give  his 
name,  he  resented  their  interference,  even  to  the  point  where 
only  Harper's  good  offices  stood  between  him  and  rougher 
handling  by  the  train  crew. 

It  was  Harper's  insight  that  discerned  the  inherently  fine 
moulding  of  the  young  man's  mind  and  also  Harper's  money 
and  advice,  which,  later  that  day,  divested  him  of  some  of  his 
rags  and  started  him  upon  the  way  to  better  seeing  and  to  his 
home. 

Meanwhile,  by  night  or  by  day  as  the  need  might  be,  far 
eastward,  in  a  crowded  Chicago  freight  yard,  one  Mack 
Albry,  a  switchman,  labored  valiantly.  He  was  tough  as 
roots,  when  there  was  a  choked  yardful  of  freight  to  shift, 
but  he  was  not  bad  at  heart.  Everybody  in  the  Twelfth  Street 
yard  knew  that,  and  the  yardmaster  had  learned  just  how 
loudly  and  how  bitterly  to  curse  him  in  order  to  get  the  most 
out  of  that  knobbled  red  head  without  drawing  down  upon 
himself  a  fusillade  of  rock  ballast  or  stray  coupling-pins. 

For  a  yardmaster,  he  had  forgiven  much  of  Mack's  doing, 
because  Albry  was  a  first-class  switchman,  a  usefully  bad  man 
10  [  145  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

in  a  rough-and-tumble,  and  a  laughing,  improvident  friend 
or  a  deadly  foe  to  the  truck  and  truss  riders  who  drifted  in 
nightly  from  the  west.  He  would  feed  them  from  his  dinner- 
pail,  or  fight  them  to  a  quick  finish  the  minute  they  struck 
the  ground,  just  according  to  the  disposition  and  the  need 
they  showed. 

Nobody  seemed  to  know  or  care  where  he  came  from  in  the 
beginning,  but  he  had  grown  from  a  little  freckled,  eager- 
eyed  roustabout,  among  the  lodging-houses  under  the 
Twelfth  Street  viaduct,  playing  in  the  railroad  yards,  kicked 
out  of  the  way  and  coming  back  smiling,  until,  from  being 
allowed  to  throw  the  lever  of  a  switch  occasionally  under  care- 
ful watching,  he  had  come  to  be  the  most  daring  car-flipper 
and  rider-in  of  the  daring  crew  that  mauled  freight  cars  in 
days  when  the  endless  gorge  of  them  drove  yardmasters  wild 
at  the  viaduct.  At  last,  just  settling  fairly  into  his  young 
manhood,  he  had  been  regularly  employed,  and  from  then 
until  the  great  change  fell  suddenly  upon  him  he  never 
wavered  in  his  pride  of  the  right  to  say  incidentally :  "  Us 
switchmen,  down  at  the  viaduct." 

Thus  proudly  established,  he  was  busy  in  the  yards  one 
night  in  early  winter,  following  Harper's  meeting  with  the 
young  wanderer  far  out  in  the  mountains.  All  went  well 
with  Albry  in  this  night's  hurry  and  hazard,  until  Manning, 
on  the  yard  engine,  kicked  a  Denver  and  Rio  Grande  box  car 
back  so  hard  in  response  to  Albry's  whirling  lamp  signal  that 
when  it  shot  into  Track  Ten,  with  Mack  clinging  to  the  hand 
and  step  irons,  and  struck  a  rotten  little  flat  car,  the  flat  bowed 
up  in  the  middle  until  its  recoil  sent  him  sprawling  from  his 
hold  upon  the  box  car  and  flattened  his  lantern  out  under 
his  rugged  body  upon  the  ground. 

[146] 


THE        PRODIGAL        SON 

When  the  noise  of  the  crash  had  subsided,  a  quavering 
moan  came  from  the  direction  of  the  box  car,  and  as  Mack 
leaped  up  and  ran  toward  where  the  two  cars  had  settled  into 
the  line,  the  moan  arose  to  a  despairing  cry  and  some  one 
pounded  faintly  within  the  box  car. 

"  He  's  mine ! "  yelled  Mack,  fierce  with  the  shame  of  his 
fall,  as  the  rest  of  the  crew  scurried  between  flying  cuts  of 
cars  and  ran  up  with  lights.  "  He  's  mine !  I  can  lick  any 
hoboe  that  ever  rode  a  truck,  or  any  of  you,  or  the  man  that 
kicked  that  car  in,  nuther ! " 

But  when  the  circle  of  light  fell  upon  the  death-like  mask 
of  a  young  face,  with  its  hungry,  sunken  eyes  that  looked 
out  of  the  now  open  car  door,  Mack's  knotty  fists  uncurled 
and  the  group  stood  silently  looking  in  pity.  Then  Summer, 
the  special  officer,  joined  the  gathering,  and  reaching  with- 
out ceremony  for  the  starveling,  grasped  him  by  the  collar. 
One  first  rough  pull  drew  a  groan  from  the  sick  man,  but 
Summer  was  relentless. 

"  Come  on !  "  he  commanded. 

"  You  don't ! "  declared  Mack,  suddenly  confronting  him. 

"I  do ! "  returned  Summer,  and  drew  a  short  and  savage 
mace. 

"  This  once,  you  don't !  He  's  mine !  He  's  a  decent  lad," 
contended  Mack,  and  before  Summer's  upraised  mace  could 
descend  upon  him,  he  struck  a  stunning  blow  that  sent  Sum- 
mer reeling  across  the  track  and  into  the  farther  darkness. 

"  Get  on  my  back,  boy,"  said  Mack,  and  leaning  over  he 
loaded  the  frail  body  like  a  sack  of  meal  and  carried  him 
away  among  the  low  red  and  green  target  lights,  out  from 
among  the  battling  switch  engines  and  across  the  yard,  into 
the  switch  shanty. 

[147] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

"  N'em  mind,"  Mack  replied  to  the  night  watchman's  pro- 
test, and  laid  his  burden  upon  the  plank  seat  behind  the 
stove.  "  N'em  mind,  you.  He  's  me  friend." 

"Where  you  been,  pard?  "  he  asked  gently  of  the  sick 
man.  "Can  you  eat?  Here,  take  some  coffee.  That's  it! 
That  '11  put  the  business  into  you  ag'in.  Take  some  more. 
That's  right.  Lay  down.  Don't  you  git  waltzin'  around 
in  here.  Ain't  room  enough  for  a  dance.  Drink  some  more ; 
this  here  's  on  me,  you  know."  And  thus  he  cajoled  and 
bullied  the  fainting  stripling  into  eating;  not  heavily,  but 
constantly  for  a  little  while,  and  quieted  his  whimpering  and 
made  him  forget  his  weak  tears. 

"  Where  you  been?  "  repeated  Mack,  finally. 

"  Been?  Oh,  my  God !  "  wailed  the  boy.  "  I  've  been  in 
the  gutter.  El  Paso,  Butte,  Spokane,  Denver;  I  know  them 
all  and  they  know  me ;  but  nothing  good.  Look  at  me !  Me! 
Rags,  filth,  within  and  without.  Sick ;  the  lowest  of  the 
low,"  he  rambled  on. 

"  Where  you  goin'  ?  "  said  practical  Mack. 

"  Here,"  said  the  boy  rousing.  "  Here.  I  was  born  in 
Chicago,  but  I  did  n't  know  enough  to  stay  here.  Got  a 
telephone  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mack. 

"Call  them,  will  you?  Call  them,  quick.  I've  got 
enough  of  it,"  said  the  stray,  and  glancing  at  the  little  group 
that  had  gathered  in,  he  motioned  Mack  to  come  closer,  drew 
his  head  down  and  said  something  that  brought  Mack  up 
with  a  jerk. 

"  Is  that  straight  ?  "  asked  Mack. 

"  True  as  I  live.  I  would  not  lie  to  you,"  quavered  the 
boy,  and  his  weak,  swarthy  face  flushed  painfully. 

Mack  jerked  the  receiver  from  its  hook  and  called  the  cen- 

[148] 


THE        PRODIGAL        SON 

tral  office  roughly:  "Hello!  Hello!  Gimme  'Three- 
double  0,  North.'  .  .  .  Yes,  and  don't  die  on  your  feet, 
will  you?  .  .  .  All  right,  ma'am.  .  .  .  Yes,  ma'am. 
.  .  .  Excuse  me.  I  thought  it  was  that  fresh  guy  that 
was  on  last  night.  .  .  .  Hello !  *  Three-double  O, 
North  ?  '  .  .  .  N'em  mind  who.  Is  the  boss  there  ? 
The  proprietor?  .  .  .  Well,  git  him,  you  dub; 
n'em  mind  who  I  am.  You  git  him  to  the  wire  or  I  '11  come 
up  there  and  smash  you.  I  know  youse  tight-breeches  kind, 
all  right.  .  .  .  Who?  .  .  .  Yes,  the  boss. 
All  right.  I  '11  lick  you  good,  first  time  you  come  to  Van 
Buren  Street  Station  .  .  .  Yes,  I  'm  a-waitin'." 

"  He  's  gittin'  him,"  said  Mack,  "  but  he  did  n't  want  to. 
Said  the  old  gent 's  in  bed.  What  shall  I  tell  him?  " 

"  Tell  him  the  prodigal  son  has  returned.  They  will  un- 
derstand. Tell  him  how  to  get  here,"  the  boy  finished  with 
a  sob,  as  Mack  turned  quickly  and  stared  into  the  opening 
of  the  transmitter,  as  a  terrier  watches  a  hole. 

"  Yes,  mister ;  it 's  me.  .  .  .  Mack  Albry.  .  .  . 
What  ?  .  .  .  It 's  us  switchmen  down  to  the  viaduct. 
Twelfth  Street,  off  of  Wabash  Avenue.  The  prodigal 's  got 
back.  .  .  .  What  ?  .  .  .  Yep.  He 's  here  with 
us.  Sick.  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  No.  .  .  .  He  don't 
want  to  talk  none.  Come  on  down  Wabash  to  Twelfth,  and 
turn  west.  Some  of  us  switchmen  will  be  layin'  fer  you,  if  you 
git  here  before  ' 48 '  comes  in.  .  .  .  What?  .  .  . 
That 's  Omaha  fast  freight.  Better  bring  a  gun  with  you, 
but  don't  shoot  at  nobody  that  holds  you  up  with  a  lamp. 
.  .  .  Oh,  that 's  all  right.  ...  So  long,  mister." 

"  What 's  a  prodigal?  "  growled  Jack  Mixer,  from  the  far 
side  of  the  stove. 

"  Don't  you  know?  "  rejoined  Mack  savagely,  with  a  sneer 

[149] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

that  was  overdone,  perhaps,  in  the  effort  to  cover  the  sick 
man's  evident  distress.  "  Did  n't  you  never  go  into  the 
Pacific  Garden  Mission  and  hear  'em  tell  it  ?  It 's  sure  an  all- 
right  story." 

"  I  don't  go  to  no  Missions,"  snorted  Mixer.  "  How  does 
it  go,  huh?" 

"  Well,  as  near  as  I  could  flag  it,  they  was  a  young  guy, 
some  like  me  friend  here,"  responded  Albry,  dropping  down 
near  the  boy,  "  what  never  did  have  to  work  none  heavy,  'cause 
his  old  man  liked  him  too  well  to  do  what  would  'a  been  best 
fer  him.  He  was  the  youngest,  this  young  fellow  was,  and 
he  had  a  big  dub  of  a  brother  that  had  to  cut  out  most  of 
the  freight  and  throw  switches  fer  the  hull  yard  at  home. 
Looked  to  me  as  if  the  old  man  sort  of  put  onto  the  big 
feller  stronger  than  I  sd  'a  stood  fer ;  but  my  old  man  —  Oh, 
n'em  mind  me. 

"  Well,  the  young  fellow,  he  keeps  playin'  around  till  he 
grows  up;  sassin'  the  old  man  and  the  big  dub,  till  final  he 
says  to  the  old  man  if  he  '11  give  him  his  share  of  the  butter 
and  eggs  and  things,  these  fellows  was  all  Rubes,  you  mind, 
why  he  '11  pull  his  freight  on  out,  like  toward  Evanston  or 
Blue  Island  or  somewheres,  and  do  his  own  car-handlin'. 
The  old  man  asks  him  can  he  run  a  yard  hisself  and  he 
thinks  yes. 

"  So,  the  old  duck,  he  means  right  by  the  boy,  and  be- 
sides that  he  's  gettin'  kind  o'  sick  of  his  doin's  by  now,  and 
he  gives  him  his  stuff,  easy,  like  a  pay-check,  and  tells  him 
Merry  Christmas,  and  all  them  things,  and  lets  him  go. 
Kind  as  a  father  to  him,  he  was." 

"  Aw,  you  pulled  that  car  once,"  said  Mixer,  who  was 
watching  the  tale  for  points  as  he  watched  the  yard  for 
signals. 

[150] 


THE        PRODIGAL        SON 

"  What 's  a  matter  with  you  ?  "  barked  Albry.  "  Do  you 
want  to  tell  this?  What  car  did  I  move  onct?  " 

"  You  said  the  old  man  was  the  boy's  old  man,  did  n't 
you  ?  "  flared  Mixer.  "  What 's  the  use  chawin'  on  that  all 
night?" 

"  He  was  kind  as  a  father  to  him,  and  that  settles  it," 
roared  Mack.  "  I  'm  a-tellin'  this.  So  the  young  feller  he 
goes  out  and  'stead  of  goin'  up  Edgewater  way,  or  wherever, 
he  puts  right  out  fer  Custom  House  Place,  or  like  that,  and 
gets  in  amongst  that  gang  and  they  just  makes  a  mess  of 
him  and  takes  his  pay-check  too  quick.  What  the  con  men 
did  n't  get  the  women  took  off  o'  him,  and  first  he  knows 
he  's  out  at  the  stock  yards  with  an  old  reliever  suit  onto 
him  that  he  got  in  Clark  Street  and  so  hungry  that  he 's 
huntin'  fer  acorns  under  the  oak  trees  in  front  of  Transit 
House. 

"  Well,  some  kind  Rube  from  down  the  State  comes  in  with 
a  car  of  hogs  and  gives  this  little  guy  a  job  helpin'  chase 
'em  into  the  stock  yards  and  feed  'em,  and  by  then 
the  little  duck  's  so  hungry  that  he  's  eatin'  corncobs  when 
the  hog  man  finds  him.  So  after  he  gets  done  out  there  he 
thinks  he  '11  go  back  home  and  strike  the  old  man  fer  a  job, 
but  he  ain't  sure  how  the  old  man  will  take  it,  him  spendin' 
his  stuff  so  soon  and  comin'  back  in  some  other  feller's  old 
clothes. 

"  Well,  he  starts  back,  anyway,  same  as  me  friend  here, 
only  he  's  a  husky  little  duck  and  ain't  sick  none  and,  thinks 
he,  he  '11  make  tlje  best  front  he  can  of  it ;  and  that 's 
right,  and  don't  you  make  no  mistake  about  it.  Always 
keep  a-chirpin'.  So  he  goes  back,  afoot  though,  'cause  they 
ain't  no  freights  runnin'  just  then,  and  when  he  gets  about 
down  the  river  to  Goose  Island,  or  like  that,  why  the  old 

[151] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

man  he  gets  wind  of  it  some  way  and  he  near  about  throws  a 
fit  he  's  so  glad. 

"  But  the  young  gujr,  he  don't  know  this  none,  and  he 
comes  hoboein'  along  through  town  and  on  out  to  where  his 
folks  lives,  and  when  he  gets  about  there  the  old  man  runs 
out  and  grabs  him  and  they  clinches.  Now,  the  other  Rubes, 
they  don't  know  the  young  feller  in  his  Clark  Street  togs 
and  they  thinks  it 's  a  scrap  with  a  hoboe,  and  them  and  the 
big  dub  brother  comes  a-runnin'  with  the  couplin'-pins  out 
of  the  ploughs,  and  them  things,  and  they  are  goin'  to  mix 
it  with  him,  just  like  us  switchmen  when  a  tough  guy  drops 
off  of  the  trucks  here. 

"  But  the  old  man,  he  says  fenanny,  or  like  that,  and  tells 
'em  who  it  is,  and  they  're  to  ketch  a  calf,  and  get  a  fat  one, 
and  get  ready  fer  a  reg'lar  barbecue.  He  takes  the  boy  in 
right,  and  when  the  big  dub  brother,  that 's  had  to  smash 
all  the  squash-bugs  all  summer  hisself,  kicks,  the  old  man 
stands  pat  fer  the  little  feller,  and  tells  them  he  's  thinkin' 
more  of  him  just  then  than  he  is  of  the  hull  bunch  of  the 
home  guys,  'cause  the  little  feller  was  lost  and  now  he 's 
found. 

"  And  from  the  way  the  old  gent's  voice  shook  when  he 
was  talkin'  to  me  on  the  wire  a  little  while  ago,  I  'm  thinkin' 
that 's  the  way  it 's  goin'  to  be  up  there  at  that  big  house  on 
the  Lake  Shore  Drive,  as  soon  as  he  gits  this  young  gent  up 
there. 

"  That 's  all  they  was  to  it  over  at  the  Mission,  only  a 
lot  of  other  talk  that  was  dead  right,  about  what  is  and  had  n't 
ought  to  'a  been,  or  something  like  that.  Anyway,  I  did  n't 
get  the  rest  of  it  quite  pat,  after  the  young  duck  won  out. 
I  'm  a-goin'  up  under  the  viaduct  now  to  watch  fer  your 

[152] 


THE        PRODIGAL        SON 

old  man,  pardner,  and  I  'm  thinkin'  he  '11  be  down  here  some 
before  we  have  to  go  cuttin'  up  '  48.' ': 

The  roar  of  the  yard  engines  went  up  hollowly  into  the 
night  as  the  door  swung  open,  and  the  lanterns  of  the  other 
track  crews  flitted  like  belated  fireflies  in  the  wintry  air. 
The  crash  of  colliding  cars  drowned  or  mingled  with  laughter 
and  curses  that  relieved  tense  nerves  of  hardy,  good-hearted 
fellows  working  at  high  pressure  among  the  countless  dan- 
gers of  the  night,  until  presently  there  came  into  the  squalid 
little  switch  shanty  a  group  as  strange  as  any  that  ever  gath- 
ered in  the  viaduct  yard.  And  what  has  not  happened  there, 
at  one  time  or  other,  has  little  to  do  with  human  affairs. 

Albry's  clear  white  lantern  came  dancing  down  between 
the  close-set  tracks,  and  in  the  small  circle  of  its  shifting 
light  a  little  lady,  her  face  dissolved  with  mother-love,  rustled 
in  dainty  silks  and  shrank  among  her  heavy  sables.  Beside 
her  strode  a  stalwart  old  man  whose  blue  eyes  flashed  out 
from  under  his  silvery  hair,  with  a  gleam  keen  as  the  point 
of  a  knife.  His  hand  tensely  clutched  something  in  the 
pocket  of  his  great  fur  coat,  and  looking  over  Albry's  head 
into  the  farther  blackness  of  the  big  yards,  he  was  saying, 
"  I  don't  know  about  this  for  you,  Mother.  I  don't  know. 
But  maybe  we  would  better  see  it  through,  if  you  can." 

"  Oh,  I  must.  I  will,"  she  said  as  Albry  stopped  with  his 
hand  upon  the  knob  of  the  shanty  door. 

"  This  is  it,  mister,"  said  Mack.  "  We  're  all-right  peo- 
ple here.  Come  in,"  he  said  as  he  pushed  the  narrow  door 
open.  Entering,  he  raised  his  lantern  above  his  head  and, 
as  the  boy  turned  his  haggard  face  to  the  light,  said :  "  Is 
that  him,  ma'am?  " 

But,  without  answer,  the  little  mother  dropped  to  her 

[153] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

knees  beside  the  rough  plank  upon  which  he  lay,  and  her 
shimmering  silks  swept  the  grimy  floor  as  she  laughed,  and 
moaned,  and  crooned,  and  wept  over  the  sobbing  boy. 

The  old  man  stood  shaken  at  the  sight  and  turning  at  last 
to  Mack,  said :  "  Man,  what  can  I  do  to  repay  my  debt  to 
you?" 

"What  can  we  do?"  echoed  the  tremulous  voice  of  the 
mother. 

"  I  guess  nothin',  ma'am,"  said  Albry  quietly,  "  less  you  'd 
shake  hands  with  me.  I  never  knowed  me  mother." 

"  Oh,  you  man!  You  good  young  man.  You  have  given 
me  back  my  son,  my  baby  boy,"  cried  the  little  woman,  and 
wept  afresh. 

Then  she  sprang  up,  and  raising  her  face  she  encircled 
Mack's  burly  neck  with  her  arms  and  drew  his  big  red  head 
down  to  her  shoulder  and  kissed  him  once,  and  again,  on  his 
grimy  forehead. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Albry  in  confusion,  and  turning  to  the 
farther  corner  called  gruffly  to  Mixer :  "  Come  on,  you." 

They  went  out,  and  in  a  moment  returned  with  a  shutter 
from  the  shanty.  On  it  they  laid  the  half-conscious  boy  and 
the  old  man  drew  from  his  pocket  a  wicked-looking  revolver 
and  pitched  it  through  the  door  into  the  darkness;  stripped 
off  his  heavy  furs,  and  swathed  them  tenderly  over  the  thin 
garb  of  his  son.  Then  the  little  group  wound  away  with 
swaying  lights  through  the  uproar  of  the  yards  to  where 
a  pair  of  champing  bays  stood  with  crested  brougham,  foot- 
man and  coachman  waiting  under  the  black  viaduct  on 
Twelfth  Street.  And  Summer  stood  in  the  shadows  and 
watched. 

As  they  reached  the  carriage,  the  old  man  turned  to  Mack 
and  said :  "  If  ever  you  need  a  friend,  my  boys,  you  know 

[154] 


THE        PRODIGAL        SON 

the  name  and  the  place.  Money  if  you  ever  need,  but  I 
offer  none  now  to  men  as  big-hearted  as  you.  Good-night," 
and  they  were  gone. 

When  Albry  and  Mixer  returned  with  the  shutter,  Mixer 
raised  his  light  to  Albry's  face  and  said :  "  You  called  the 
turn  with  that  there  yarn  of  yourn." 

There  were  two  big  dirty  smears  below  Mack's  eyes,  as  he 
blinked  at  the  light  for  an  instant.  Then  he  said,  "  Forty- 
eight  's  in.  Come  on,"  and  plunged  across  the  tracks  to 
begin  the  remaining  night's  work. 

Summer  was  all  right  in  his  way,  but  his  business  was  that 
of  catching  thieves,  and  all  men  were  thieves  to  him  until 
they  were  proven  innocent.  Even  then,  he  doubted  them. 
He  was  crestfallen  and  dishonored  before  the  yard.  It  was 
as  much  as  his  job  was  worth  to  be  knocked  out  by  a  switch- 
man, if  the  story  got  to  headquarters,  and  he  was  boiling  with 
wrath  and  the  desire  to  redeem  his  reputation.  In  short,  he 
was  there  to  take  Mack  into  headquarters,  and  his  anger 
drove  him  into  taking  the  wrong  time  for  it.  He  skulked 
along  the  dark  line  of  "  48 "  until  he  reached  the  point 
where  Albry  was  working,  and  when  Albry's  right  hand  shot 
high  above  his  head  to  swing  a  signal,  a  pair  of  hand-cuffs 
flashed  suddenly  in  the  light  of  the  lantern.  One  of  the  steel 
loops  snapped  at  his  wrist  but  fell  short,  and  Summer 
lunged  heavily  against  Mack,  from  the  force  of  his  spring 
out  of  the  darkness. 

Albry's  lantern  did  not  pause  in  its  circling  swing,  but  he 
changed  its  course  and  curved  the  weight  of  his  big  chest 
into  the  blow  as  the  heavy  lantern  crashed  into  Summer's 
glowering  face  and  cut  him  to  the  bone.  Summer  ground 
a  savage  oath  between  his  teeth  and  they  clinched,  and 
strained,  and  fell,  as  a  rumble  ran  through  the  long  line  of 

[155] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

freight  in  answer  to  Mack's  signal.  The  light  went  out 
with  the  blow  that  was  struck,  and  now  it  was  Albry  and 
now  Summer  atop,  as  they  throttled,  and  struck,  and  cursed, 
and  rolled  upon  the  ground.  Only  Albry  knew  the  signal 
he  had  given,  and  that  death  was  bearing  down  silently  upon 
them  both.  Fighting  his  throat  free  from  Summer's  clutch, 
for  a  moment,  he  gasped :  "  You  fool,  they  're  coming  back 
on  us ! " 

Summer  leaped  up  and  tried  to  drag  him  to  his  feet,  but 
too  late.  The  heavy  wheels  ground  over  Mack's  good  stout 
leg  and  left  him  a  weltering,  pitiful  thing  by  the  track,  with 
Summer  dazed  and  horror-stricken,  standing  by. 

They  hurried  him  across  to  the  railroad  ward  in  St.  Luke's 
by  the  lake,  and  when  they  laid  him  upon  the  glazed  table 
in  the  little  white  operating  room  he  forced  their  hands  clear 
and  tried  to  sit  up,  saying,  "  Let  me  see  it ! " 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  the  little  white-capped  nurse,  as  she  gently 
forced  him  back.  "  You  could  n't  do  that,  you  know.  Lie 
down  now,  that 's  a  good  boy." 

"  Let  me  see  it,  I  tell  you,"  he  shouted,  strong  yet  in  the 
numbness  of  shock. 

"  Let  him  see,"  said  Tom  Maxon,  the  young  surgeon, 
after  looking  steadily  into  Mack's  face  for  a  moment.  "  We 
will  fix  you  up  all  right,  my  boy,"  he  added  in  kind  assur- 
ance like  that  of  his  veteran  uncle  of  Alta  Vista. 

They  raised  him  up.  He  looked  carefully  at  his  mangled 
ankle  and  settled  back  saying,  "  Fix  me  up,  eh?  Yes,  I 
know  what  that  means.  I  've  seen  that  kind  fixed  up  before. 

"  Say,  Mixer  knows  where.  You  tell  him  to  ask  her  if 
she  '11  come  to  see  me  to-morrow.  Tell  her  I  '11  wait.  Say ! 
What 's  chokin'  me  that  way  ?  " 

[156] 


THE        PRODIGAL        SOtf 

"  Yes,  he  will  go,"  said  the  nurse,  as  Mixer  touched  Mack's 
hand  and  then  tiptoed  from  the  room. 

"  Now,  I  'm  going  to  put  this  over  your  face  for  a  little 
while,"  the  nurse  smiled  down  at  Albry,  "  and  you  must  say, 
slowly,  'I  feel  it,'  until  I  ask  you  to  stop.  Will  you?" 
she  questioned  with  the  cheerful  air  of  beginning  some  rare, 
glad  lark. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mack,  from  under  the  loose  cone.  "  I  feel 
it.  I  —  feel  —  it.  I  —  I  — "  and  then  (he  floated  out  upon 
the  fanciful  field  of  anaesthetic  dreams  and  said  no  more,  nor 
even  moaned. 

He  "  waited "  and  in  the  morning  the  champing  bays 
pranced  in  the  wintry  sunshine  outside  St.  Luke's  while, 
within,  Tom  Maxon,  surgeon,  was  saying  to  the  Prodigal's 
stately  parents: 

"  Albry  ?  Oh,  yes.  Yes,  received  last  night.  Well,  sir, 
you  may  as  well  see  him  —  now." 

"  'Is  it  that  ?  "  the  man  asked. 

"  I  think  it  is,"  said  Maxon.  "  I  believe  so.  There  is  no 
certainty  in  advance,  in  such  a  case.  He  was  strong,  very 
strong,  and  might  well  have  weathered  the  leg.  But,  there  is 
a  stupor,  a  chest  injury,  perhaps,  that  is  puzzling.  Is 
he—" 

"  He  is  mine,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Living  or  —  passing, 
please  do  not  forget  that  he  is  as  mine." 

The  words  that  had  leaped  angrily  from  Mack's  lips  in  the 
railroad  yard  bore  a  new  meaning  when  thus  unknowingly 
repeated  in  loving  kindness.  On  his  cot,  in  the  long  white 
line  of  the  ward,  Albry  was  tossing  weakly,  in  half  con- 
sciousness. He  roused  and  then  quieted  at  the  touch  of  the 
woman's  hand  and  to  her  questions  said : 

[157] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  Yes,  I  know  you.  I  got  scared  —  lonesome,  last  night. 
Do  you  mind?  There  's  nobody  but  the  boys  in  the  yard, 
for  me,  all  busy.  I  wish  you'd  stay  —  just  for  comp'ny." 

While  Maxon  passed  gravely  on  to  the  next  cot  in  line, 
they  drew  closer  to  Albry  and  dried  what  seemed  the  death- 
damp  from  his  face  and  together  they  said: 

"  You  have  us,  son,  and  we  will  stay.  You  will  not 
fear,  but  sleep  now." 

Then  he  wandered  again :  "  This  —  house  —  chokes  me ! 
Are  the  boys  lookin'?  Don't  they  hear  me?  Who  are  they? 
This  —  house  —  ''  his  voice  trailed  off  more  faintly  and 
his  eyes  closed  drowsily. 

"  *  In  my  Father's  house  are  many  mansions,'  "  soothingly 
whispered  the  kneeling  woman,  with  her  lips  close  to  his 
dulling  ear,  " '  if  it  were  not  so,  I  would  have  told  you.  I 
go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you.' 

"  He  is  looking.     He  hears  you." 

"  For  —  me  ?  My  —  father  ?  "  whispered  Mack,  simply 
as  a  little  child. 

"  Yes,  son,"  spoke  the  man's  vibrant  voice.  "  Your 
Father.  Our  Father.  Now  sleep." 

The  little  woman  shook  with  voiceless  sobbing,  her  silvery 
hair  mingling  with  the  tangled  red  of  the  weary  head  upon 
the  pillows.  Then,  the  fading  senses  rallied  to  a  greater 
effort,  Mack's  sturdy  arms  went  once  aloft  in  the  oft-used 
go-ahead  signal,  sank  slowly,  fluttered  up  again  and  sank,  as 
he  settled  into  a  deeper  quiet. 

"  'Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,' "  said  the  old 
man,  as  his  head  went  down  beside  that  other  silvery  head  that 
bowed  beside  the  peaceful  face  of  Mack. 

"  He  gave  his  life  for  us  and  ours,"  she  softly  said. 

"  Hush ! "  whispered  the  voice  of  Tom  Maxon. 

[158] 


THE        PRODIGAL        SON 

Lifting  their  faces  in  breathless  silence,  the  visitors 
watched  the  young  surgeon,  who  had  silently  returned  and 
was  clinging  gently  to  the  limp  wrist.  A  gleam  of  sur- 
prise and  gratification  grew  in  his  eyes.  After  a  tense  min- 
ute, he  released  Albry's  wrist,  listened  in  a  surprised  way  with 
his  ear  against  the  almost  motionless  chest,  then  beckoned 
them  to  follow  him  away  into  the  ward. 

"  It  is  not  what  you  thought  —  what  I  feared  —  but  a 
most  gratifying  rally  of  a  wonderful  body,"  he  said  when 
they  had  reached  a  right  distance  from  the  cot.  "  I  will 
not  ask  what  you  said  or  did  before  I  returned  —  per- 
haps nothing  that  would  seem  significant  —  but  something 
has  turned  the  tide  in  his  favor.  He  may  have  lacked  just 
the  close  touch  of  friends. 

"  He  is  now  relaxed  and  free  from  shock  —  Oh,  no !  It 
is  not  dissolution.  He  is  sleeping,  almost  naturally,  for  the 
first  time  since  we  received  him." 

"  Then  you  have  a  hope  for  him?  "  questioned  the  old 
man,  anxiously. 

"  Every  hope,  now.  He  will  live,"  answered  Maxon,  quite 
positively.  "  The  heart  is  a  mysterious  engine." 

Sitting,  one  evening  some  weeks  later,  where  the  glinting 
waters  of  Lake  Michigan  tumbled  and  rippled  almost  at  his 
door,  the  white-haired  director  of  the  railroad  which  had 
returned  to  him  his  wayward  son  and,  for  that  service,  taken 
its  heavy  toll  of  Mack  Albry,  sat  talking  quietly  with 
Sharer,  the  general  manager. 

"  Sharer,"  he  was  saying,  "  there  is  a  matter  that  is  rather 
close  to  my  heart  and  in  which  I  should  like  to  enlist  your 
interest. 

"  My  son,  who  was  —  lost,  has  been  returned  to  me.  You 
know  something  of  it  —  quite  enough,  in  fact,  as  to  the 

[159] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

main  event.  You  know,  also,  that  there  is  a  young  man, 
Mack  Albry,  who  will  presently  be  discharged,  as  cured,  from 
St.  Luke's,  and  that,  by  action  of  the  board,  the  company 
undertakes  to  educate  and  place  him,  as  being  of  a  desirable 
metal,  which  the  road  requires. 

"  That,  it  has  been  decided,  is  all  quite  regular  and  good 
railroad  business.  My  personal  obligation  to  Albry  I  am 
discharging  in  a  way  of  my  own  choosing. 

"  There  is  another  young  man,  however,  one  Joe  Harper, 
who,  as  I  have  recently  learned,  has  placed  me  under  an 
obligation  that  cannot  be  so  readily  met.  ,  I  am  told  that  he 
is  employed  somewhere  upon  our  lines.  Do-  you  happen  to 
know  of  him  ?  " 

"  Quite  well,  by  common  report,  which  is  distinctly  favor- 
able to  him,"-  replied  Sharer. 

"  Then,"  said  the  director,  "  I  shall  add  only  this :  He 
seems  to  have  shown  a  soundness  of  judgment  and  an  ability 
to  control  men  by  persuasion,  which  would  warrant  giving 
him  the  fullest  opportunity  to  prove  his  (fitness  for  advance- 
ment in  the  service. 

"  If  you  will  gauge  him  in  your  own  way,  as  occasions 
offer,  I  shall  note  the  outcome,  with  much  interest.'* 

Harper's  bread  had  begun  its  long  return  upon  the  rail- 
road waters. 


[160] 


CHAPTER  XI 
HORRIGAN'S  MEDAL 

44  ^~^\H,  he's  n°t  so  bad,  sometimes,"  contended  fireman 
V_>/  McPeltrie,  whose  feet  were  dangling  from  the  idle 
baggage  truck  on  Villa  Rica  station  platform.  "  I  can 
carry  as  thin  a  fire,  with  Horrigan  up,  as  with  any  engineer 
on  the  division." 

"  He 's  a  big  wind,  and  no  cyclone-cellar  handy ! "  de- 
clared conductor  Waverly.  "  And  I  hope  he  don't  pull  me, 
if  I  'm  called  for  one  of  the  specials.  He  keeps  me  feeling 
that  things  are  going  to  happen  soon." 

Waverly  spoke  with  the  fixed  belief  and  deep  unction  of  an 
experienced  conductor  measuring  up  a  comparatively  new 
engineer. 

"  Horrigan  has  too  many  things  on  his  mind,  and  he  can't 
seem  to  keep  them  there.  He  's  always  slopping  over  into 
talk,"  Waverly  continued. 

"  If  you  were  to  ask  him  for  a  chew  of  tobacco,  in  the 
dark,  at  a  water  tank,  on  short  time,  he  'd  very  likely  give  it, 
if  he  had  it  on  him.  But,  before  you  could  get  him  to  pull 
out  for  the  next  siding,  he  'd  start  a  lecture  on  what  tobacco 
does  to  the  solar  plexus. 

"  And,  if  you  were  to  turn  hot  under  the  collar  and  throw 
out  your  cud,  on  the  strength  of  that  talk  while  you  're  try- 
ing to  get  him  started,  he  'd  sure  turn  in  at  the  next  stop  and 
give  you  facts  and  figures,  world  without  end,  on  what  to- 

[  161  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

bacco  is  costing  the  United  States,  and  what  per  cent  of  it 's 
wasted  through  rough  handling. 

"  Horrigan  knows  too  damned  much,  besides  running  en- 
gine !  When  I  break  away  from  him,  I  always  feel  as  if  I  'd 
been  sunburned,  grabbed  by  the  neck,  and  dipped  in  a 
creek." 

"  That  5s  whatever,"  supplemented  Red  Jones,  the  brake- 
man.  "  He  cert'ny  scares  me  'way  up  into  the  high  rocks, 
when  he  gets  talking  in  full  release. 

"  But,  he  knows   engine  —  don't   you   never   doubt   it  — 
and,  if  he  pulls  us  on  special,  we  '11  go  where  the  rest  of  them 
go.     You  can  bet  on  it !  " 

While  he  was  thus,  in  theory,  being  taken  apart  and  re- 
built upon  the  spur  of  the  moment,  the  engineer  whom  they 
had  been  discussing  finished  his  walk  across  the  tracks  after 
leaving  the  group  of  talkers,  and  was  humming  a  happy, 
nervous  sort  of  nothing,  in  the  way  of  a  tune,  as  he  stooped 
and  touched,  here  and  there,  about  his  engine,  which  was 
waiting  at  the  coal  chutes,  just  over  the  way. 

Horrigan  did  not  rightly  belong  on  Villa  Rica  division. 
This  was  not  because  he  had  not  been  brought  up  there, 
although  that  fact  operated  as  a  handicap  against  him  just 
at  first,  as  it  does  against  any  man  coming  new  to  the  special 
requirements  of  the  mountain  service.  Dinwiddy,  with  his 
keen  master  mechanic's  insight  into  the  character  of  men, 
had  felt  some  slight  aversion  to  him  on  sight,  but  was  too 
fair-minded  and  was  needing  men  too  badly  to  let  that  feeling 
debar  him  without  trial.  Evidently,  he  was  not  the  type  of 
man  that  Enderby,  Muller,  Dodson,  and  others  of  the 
initiated  would  hail  with  acclaim,  but  he  was  taken  on  proba- 
tion, in  short,  as  men  are  taken  there,  and  while  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  weathering  the  test  to  the  point  where  he  had 

[162] 


HORRIGAN       S        MEDAL 

acquired  rights  on  extra  passenger  runs,  yet  he  somehow 
did  not  seem  to  belong. 

He  was  a  free  and  somewhat  able  talker  and  seemed  to 
have  more  than  the  ordinary  predilection  for  what  is  com- 
monly called  a  play  to  the  grandstand.  Even  that  might 
have  passed  the  broad  tolerance  of  the  men  of  the  division, 
had  he  not  possessed  the  unhappy  faculty  of  injecting  into 
his  ever  ready  speech  a  vitriolic  tang  that  sent  the  comfort 
of  common  talk  a-glimmering  from  any  conversation  in 
which  he  engaged  and  left  his  hearers  with  an  unreasonable 
sense  of  shame  for  which,  however,  they  never  could  quite 
account.  Not  easily  defined,  it  was  to  them  somewhat  as 
though  they  had  been  detected  in  the  absurdity  of  trying  to 
fix  a  hex-headed  bolt  into  a  square  countersink  and  perhaps 
that  was  really  the  trouble,  in  a  sense.  Horrigan  had  too 
many  angles.  He  did  not  fit  there. 

That  was  the  way  matters  stood  when  the  Society  for  the 
Promotion  of  Peace  on  Earth  sent  some  thousands  of  its 
members  upon  a  well-timed  pilgrimage  across  the  continent, 
and  when  the  return  journey  began,  Villa  Rica  division,  like 
the  rest  of  the  line,  went  into  careful  and  complete  prepara- 
tions for  handling  the  six  heavily  laden  sections  of  the  special 
traffic,  which  was  scheduled  to  run  as  Number  Two,  with 
regular  Number  Two  carrying  extra  coaches  and  heading 
the  movement,  as  first  section. 

When  the  great  day  on  the  division  arrived,  Dodson's 
rights  gave  him  Number  Two,  first  section,  Muller  was  posted 
upon  the  roundhouse  board  as  next  out,  for  the  second  sec- 
tion, Horrigan  was  drawn  from  the  freight  crews  and 
assigned  to  the  engine  of  Third  Number  Two,  and  Mark 
Enderby,  with  McPeltrie  firing,  was  returning  with  the 
Overland  in  time  to  take  out  Fourth  Number  Two,  for  which 

[163] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

he  was  already  posted  upon  the  board.  The  other  two 
engines  of  the  extra  sections  were  to  be  manned  by  freight 
crews,  not  yet  returned  but  closely  nearing  Villa  Rica. 

Among  those  who  were  in  the  roundhouse  that  morning 
there  was  a  pregnant  silence,  for  the  most  part  born  of  a 
deep  sense  of  the  responsibility  of  handling  the  living  six 
sections  that  were  laboring  onward  from  the  coast.  Horri- 
gan,  alone,  seemed  to  find  it  an  occasion  for  much 
speaking,  and  stimulated  to  greater  than  usual  effort 
by  the  sense  of  his  own  responsibility,  he  descanted  loudly 
and  long  upon  how  the  thing  should  be  done  to  redound 
with  proper  glory  to  the  division.  Dinwiddy,  as  he  chanced 
by,  Dodson,  Muller,  and  some  others  listened  as  briefly  as 
possible,  and  one  by  one  slipped  quietly  away. 

Duly,  Number  Two  trailed  down  off  the  mountain-side  and 
came  safely  to  rest  in  Villa  Rica.  The  happy,  zealous  occu- 
pants of  its  ten  coaches  swarmed  out  and  cheered,  to  the 
echo,  the  crew  that  had  brought  them  safely  one  stage  upon 
their  return.  They  cheered,  as  heartily,  the  engine  and  crew 
that  backed  down  upon  the  train  to  take  up  the  journey 
afresh,  and  Number  Two  went  strongly  and  gayly  upon  its 
way,  under  the  hand  of  Dodson,  intent  but  unperturbed. 

When  Second  Number  Two  arrived  all  this  was  done  again, 
Muller  and  Villa  Rica  in  general  taking  on  a  quiet  exulta- 
tion at  their  unwonted  celebrity,  while  H'orrigan,  with  his 
preparations  made  and  his  engine  standing  ready,  was  circu- 
lating freely  with  the  throng,  shaking  hands  with  the  pil- 
grims, telling  them  in  awe-inspiring  periods  how  the  thing 
was  being  done  and  what  he,  too,  was  about  to  do.  The 
rest  of  Villa  Rica,  of  course,  was  as  glad  as  he,  but  it  was 
very  quiet  in  its  gladness,  well  knowing  that  while  there  are 
trains  there  are  chances. 

[  164  5 


HORRIGAN       S        MEDAL 

Muller  with  this  Second  Number  Two 'was  well  away  when 
Third  Number  Two  came  down  and  disgorged  its  burden  of 
enthusiasts.  They  swarmed  around  Horrigan's  engine,  just 
before  the  start,  and  cheered  and  cheered  again,  yielding  at 
last  only  to  the  polite  but  urgent  insistence  of  Waverly,  the 
conductor,  and  of  the  trainmen  who  were  trying  with  little 
success  to  gather  them  all  quickly  back  into  the  train. 
Horrigan's  too  effusive  greetings  and  responses  from  the 
cab  window  were  holding  them. 

Finally,  they  reached  the  climax  of  their  enthusiasm,  and  as 
the  tide  set  back  toward  the  coaches,  their  long-sustained 
excitement,  their  gratitude  for  safety  through  many  perils 
but  dimly  understood,  and  their  longing  for  definite  expres- 
sion centred  upon  the  well-meaning  but  too  demonstrative 
Horrigan  at  the  cab  window.  The  great  volume  of  voices 
trailed  off  from  its  cheering  into  the  dear  old  hymn  of  bene- 
diction :  "  God  be  with  you  till  we  meet  again." 

With  that  appealing  strain,  pleading  that  "  death's  threat- 
ening wave  "  be  smitten  before  him,  wafting  to  his  ears  from 
the  train  Horrigan  pulled  out  with  Third  Number  Two's  ten 
coaches  and  with  a  suspicion  of  more  than  usual  moisture  in 
his  eyes.  Horrigan  was  very  far  from  being  at  hard  man. 
He  was  a  hard  talker,  that  was  all. 

Horrigan's  present  triumph  was  brief,  complete,  and,  to 
him,  most  satisfying  while  it  lasted.  He  wheeled  them  away 
magnificently  up  the  first  great  rise  that  offers  its  resistance 
to  Villa  Rica  men,  and  having  vanished  through  the  notch 
of  the  eastern  pass,  began  dropping  down  the  long  reaches  of 
the  Eleven-mile  Hill  with  all  of  the  assurance  that  careful 
preparation  could  give.  His  heart  was  beating  high  with 
the  warmth  of  the  enthusiasm  of  which  he  had  unexpectedly 
become  the  central  object  at  Villa  Rica  and  he  saw  himself 

[165] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

thenceforth  a  towering  figure  in  the  division  annals.  The 
run  ahead  held  no  special  difficulties  and  he  let  the  train  soar 
down  in  wide,  breathless  sweeps  that  brought  joy  to  the 
hearts  of  the  travellers  and  keyed  him  to  a  keener  gladness 
in  his  work. 

With  the  throttle  closed  and  the  reverse  lever  latched  well 
down  ahead  for  drifting,  he  was  sailing  them,  free  as  an 
eagle's  flight,  where  he  dared,  fondling  the  brake-valve  han- 
dle and  holding  them  safely,  where  he  must,  with  all  going 
well,  so  far  as  he  could  know,  while  back  in  the  crowded 
coaches  further  campaigns  of  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to 
men,  were  being  planned  and  song  relieved  the  weariness  of 
the  journey. 

Then,  without  warning  and  from  no  fault  of  his,  disaster 
fell  upon  Horrigan  and  rudely  disturbed  the  confidence  of 
his  passengers  in  their  engineer.  Deep  down  in  a  vital  spot 
of  his  engine  a  little  detailed  fracture  had  been  growing  for 
many  months,  where  no  outward  search  could  detect  it,  and 
in  the  regular  course  of  daily  events  no  foresight  or  care 
could  defeat  its  growth. 

Close  in  behind  the  collar  of  the  main-pin,  securely  hidden 
within  its  fit  in  the  wheel,  the  little  thread-like  fracture  had 
been  gnawing  into  the  circumference  of  the  pin.  Little  by 
little,  it  had  eaten  toward  the  heart  of  the  pin  until  now, 
with  the  rods  fanning  the  air  in  a  steely  blur  of  light  and 
the  wheels  humming  in  dull  monotone  in  the  rushing  air,  the 
great  pin  was  quivering  upon  its  remaining  solid  core  and  no 
one  could  guess  the  fact. 

Half  way  down  the  Eleven-mile  grade,  just  when  Horrigan 
had  yielded  to  the  temptation  of  one  proud  backward  look 
at  the  inner  side  of  the  flying  curve  of  the  train,  the  over- 
taxed pin  let  go.  There  was  only  an  instant's  crashing  jum- 

[166] 


HORRIGAN       S        MEDAL 

ble  of  sounds  from  below  before  the  rods  wrenched  themselves 
apart  and  the  swift  stripping  of  his  side  of  the  engine  began. 

In  the  next  moment,  the  forward  working  parts  broke  free 
with  the  shattered  cylinder  and  fell  in  the  ditch,  while  the 
side-rod,  parted  at  the  middle,  began  its  work  of  flailing 
off  with  swift  rotary  sweeps  the  cab  and  after-fittings. 

First  among  these  to  go  were  the  brake-pipes  and  reser- 
voir, and  when  the  seat-box  went  shivering  upward  in  a 
shower  of  splinters  and  tools  Horrigan  stood  upon  the  deck 
where  he  had  tumbled  without  even  a  chance  to  touch  the 
brake-valve  or  move  it  from  the  lap,  where  he  had  set  it  pre- 
viously while  all  was  well.  With  the  train-line  torn  open 
and  the  air  gone  from  equilibrium,  the  brakes  went  on  with 
an  emergency  application  that  set  the  coaches  bumping  upon 
their  trucks  and  put  in  sudden  motion  a  series  of  wild  gym- 
nastics among  the  passengers  all  unprepared. 

Before  they  were  fairly  untangled  from  their  catapult  de- 
partures over  the  tops  of  car  seats  and  unannounced  arrivals 
in  each  other's  laps,  the  train  had  ground  itself  to  an  abrupt 
stop.  Then  they  shook  themselves  out  of  the  tangle,  and 
hurriedly  as  conductor  Waverly  had  moved  to  the  front  at  the 
first  jolt,  yet  they  were  flocking  to  the  engine  ahead  of  him. 

There  he  found  them,  rapidly  increasing  from  a  bevy  to 
hundreds,  close  around  the  damaged  engine,  and,  standing 
erect  in  the  ruins  o'f  the  cab,  the  whole  side  of  which  was  torn 
off  and  gone,  was  Horrigan  with  his  hand  clutching  the  only 
projection  that  remained  in  reach,  which  happened  to  be  the 
handle  of  the  now  useless  brake-valve. 

Horrigan's  cap  was  gone,  his  blouse  was  ripped  up  the 
back,  and  there  was  one  bright  spot  of  blood  sending  down 
a  trickle  of  crimson  upon  his  cheek  where  a  splinter  had 
grazed  him.  He  certainly  looked  the  conventional  hero,  and 

[167] 


MARK      EN DERBY:      ENGINEER 

as  the  little  human  eddy  of  passengers  swirled  into  a  con- 
stantly widening  pool  of  frightened  humanity  about  the  en- 
gine, a  murmur  of  admiration  rose  and  grew  until  it  broke 
forth  into  ringing  cheer  after  cheer,  punctuated  with  cries 
of  "  Speech !  Speech  f  Speech !  " 

None  but  a  man  built  upon  Horrigan's  lines  would  have 
thought  for  a  single  moment  of  responding  to  this  hysterical 
demand,  under  the  circumstances,  and  perhaps  not  even  Hor- 
rigan  would  have  done  so,  had  he  not,  just  previously,  been 
frozen  stiff  with  fright  and  astonishment  while  the  delight  of 
his  ovation  at  Villa  Rica  was  still  surging  in  his  mind.  The 
latter,  apparently,  was  the  first  clear  idea  to  free  itself  in  his 
shocked  senses,  and  with  the  entire  train's  company  for  au- 
dience —  all  save  one  lonely  figure  that  shot  out  from  the 
rear  of  the  last  coach  and  went  running  up  the  grade  — • 
Horrigan  clutched  the  useless  brake-valve  handle  spasmod- 
ically and  began  upon  a  stammering  speech. 

Waverly,  running,  and  thrusting  his  wiry  body  uncere- 
moniously through  the  closely  packed  crowd,  had  reached 
the  distorted  gangway  between  engine  and  tender.  He  had 
seized  the  hand-iron  of  the  tender  and  was  thrusting  his  foot 
into  the  step-iron  when  Horrigan's  first  halting  words 
sounded.  Waverly  stopped  as  though  stricken  powerless, 
with  his  foot  in  the  air,  as  the  monstrous  folly  of  the  thing 
made  its  way  to  his  quick  senses,  but  only  for  a  single  look 
upward  into  Horrigan's  distorted  and  painfully  working 
face.  Then  Waverly's  white  face  went  even  whiter  with 
suppressed  wrath  and  he  sprang  up  the  step  and  upon  the 
littered  deck  and  stood  tensely  with  the  fireman,  close  behind 
Horrigan's  shoulder. 

He  permitted  Horrigan  to  ramble  through  a  few  sentences 

[168] 


HORRIGAN       S        MEDAL 

of  rather  pointless  platitudes,  and  at  the  first  tangible  halt 
in  Kerrigan's  now  rapid  utterance,  he  stepped  in  front  of 
him  with  a  ghastly  smile,  seized  his  free  right  hand  in  a 
crushing  grip  and  shook  it  ostentatiously  for  the  benefit  of 
the  intent  audience  below.  With  his  back  turned  to  the 
passengers  and  his  eyes  boring  fiercely  into  the  eyes  of  the 
engineer,  he  was  saying  while  his  grip  tightened: 

"  Horrigan,  you  damned  grandstand  player,  you  have  n't 
done  a  thing  here  but  roll  in  luck  and  you  know  it !  If  you 
don't  cut  this  out  and  get  down  and  clean  up  the  pins,  so 
Enderby  on  Fourth  Two  can  help  us  down  the  hill,  I  '11 
pound  you  to  a  frazzle  right  here  on  your  own  deck!  Get 
some  tools  and  get  down ! " 

Then  he  released  his  fierce  grip  upon  Horrigan's  hand, 
turned  with  a  strained  smile  to  the  cheering  audience  below, 
and  removing  his  cap  bowed  to  them  most  suavely  while 
Horrigan  turned  hastily  to  the  tool-box  upon  the  tender.  A 
few  moments  later,  both  of  them,  with  the  fireman,  were 
thrusting  the  crowd  back  from  below  while  the  broken  rods 
were  stripped  off  and  the  crippled  engine  made  ready  for 
movement  with  help  from  the  coming  fourth  section. 

In  the  few  moments  that  this  byplay  had  occupied,  the 
single  man  of  all  the  train's  people  who  had  not  rushed  toward 
the  engine,  but,  true  to  his  great  trust,  called  peremptorily 
without  a  moment's  -warning  save  that  of  his  own  knowledge 
of  his  own  special  task,  Red  Bill  Jones,  had  caught  up  his 
flag  with  its  dangling  sack  of  torpedoes  and  was  running 
swiftly  up  the  grade  at  the  rear. 

Previously,  there  had  been  nothing  to  distinguish  him,  in 
road  talk,  from  Black  Bill  Jones  except  the  qualifying  ad- 
jectives of  color  which  the  road  parlance  had  supplied. 

[169] 


MARK      ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

Thereafter,  however,  a  less  pointedly  personal  distinction  was 
to  endure.  He  was  to  be  remembered  and  designated  by  the 
result  of  rising  to  his  suddenly  presented  opportunity. 

Two  train-lengths  up  the  wide  curving  grade  the 
track  was  lost  from  sight  in  the  deep  and  narrow 
Spire  Cut  and  beyond  that  the  swell  of  the  mountain 
hid  it  for  a  mile,  down  which  Enderby  with  Fourth 
Two  would  soon  be  bowling.  Red  Jones  ran  swiftly  to 
the  Spire  Cut,  fumbling  the  while  with  the  string  of 
the  torpedo  bag,  meaning  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure 
by  setting  explosive  signals  in  the  cut  before  running  farther 
in  the  concealing  curve  to  meet  the  oncoming  section.  Thus 
absorbed  in  his  double  duty,  a  vagrant  wedge  of  rock  caught 
his  foot  and  threw  him  heavily  from  the  track  upon  his 
shoulder,  into  the  ditch. 

With  a  muttered  imprecation,  he  scrambled  hastily  to  his 
feet  and  much  to  his  astonishment  fell  over  again  quite  help- 
lessly upon  the  spot  from  which  he  had  arisen.  A  piercing 
stab  of  pain  shot  through  his  ankle,  and  when  a  second  effort 
to  rise  resulted  in  a  second  fall,  he  examined  the  offending 
ankle  to  find  it  dislocated  and  his  foot  badly  awry. 

He  set  his  teeth  grimly  and  tugged  at  the  anguished  foot 
as  at  a  boot  but  it  would  not  right,  and  he  gave  up  the  effort 
quickly.  He  crawled  back  up  the  ballasted  bank  of  the  track 
and  bent  a  signal-cap  upon  the  rail.  He  crept  an  engine- 
length  and  bent  another  cap  upon  the  rail.  Then  he  began 
the  long  crawl  upon  hands  and  knees,  up  the  grade  in  the 
cut,  with  the  flag.  The  ragged  rock  ballast  riddled  his  cloth- 
ing and  bit  cruelly  into  his  naked  knees  but  he  held  to  the 
middle  of  the  track  with  the  flag  wavering  and  upended  before 
him,  even  though  he  left  a  dull,  irregular  trailing  stain  of 
blood  upon  the  ballast. 

[170] 


HORRIGAN       S        MEDAL 

Once  he  fainted  for  a  moment,  with  the  flag  stretched  out 
upon  the  rail  before  him  and  his  face  fallen  among  the  broken 
rock,  then  he  came  back  to  the  pulsing  anguish  of  his  dis- 
jointed ankle  and  crept  forward  again  until  he  heard  the 
distant  booming  of  Fourth  Number  Two's  whistle  at  the  ap- 
proach to  the  Spire  Cut.  He  stood  up  then,  leaning  upon 
the  flag-staff  for  support  until  the  black  muzzle  of  the  coming 
engine  shot  into  sight.  He  raised  the  flag  aloft,  waved  it  in 
wide  and  steady  sweeps  across  the  track  until  the  deep  note 
of  the  whistle  barked  briefly  twice  in  acknowledgment,  then 
he  laid  the  flag  carefully  upon  the  rail,  spread  it  to  its  full 
length,  and  rolled  over  into  the  ditch,  as  senseless  as  the  ties 
bedded  in  the  track.  He  was  game  to  the  last  conscious  beat 
of  his  heart. 

Enderby  and  McPeltrie  lifted  him  to  the  engine  cab,  when 
they  had  stopped,  and  quickly  brought  him  back  to  conscious- 
ness. They  dropped  cautiously  down  through  the  Spire  Cut 
and  coupled  in  at  the  rear  of  Third  Number  Two  and  helped 
them  down  the  hill,  while  Red  Jones  lay  quietly  upon  a  plank 
that  slanted  forward  from  McPeltrie's  seat-box,  in  the  engine 
of  Fourth  Number  Two.  And  the  kindly  members  of  The 
Society  for  the  Promotion  of  Peace  on  Earth  knew  nothing 
of  Red  Jones  or  his  doings.  They  were  discussing,  in  sub- 
dued tones  of  gratitude  and  admiration,  Horrigan,  the  brave 
engineer  who  had  stood  dauntlessly  and  alone  in  the  wreck  of 
his  post  and  saved  them  from  a  dreadful  fate  —  just  what, 
they  were  not  so  clear  upon.  And  Horrigan  was  a  brave 
man,  in  common  measure. 

So,  with  this  single  interruption,  the  splendid  movement 
of  the  precious  six  sections  went  smoothly  on.  The  day  saw 
Villa  Rica  division  well  and  creditably  clear  of  its  great 
responsibility,  and  in  the  days  immediately  following  the 

[171] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

respective  parts  played  by  Horrigan  and  Red  Jones  in  the 
Spire  Cut  affair  became  a  serious  bone  of  contention!  The 
whole  bitterly  fought,  old  question  of  the  comparative  dan- 
ger and  bravery  of  the  several  posts  in  train  service  was  re- 
opened with  a  zest,  and,  sometimes  a  venom  that  it  had  never 
previously  attained.  But  the  subject  was  wearing  itself 
out  and  bade  fair  to  subside,  when  a  most  unfortunate  event 
tore  all  aching  wounds  and  lacerated  feelings  open,  afresh. 

There  was  not  a  man  in  Villa  Rica,  belonging  to  the  serv- 
ice, who  did  not  fully  understand  that  when  Horrigan  was 
discovered  clutching  the  brake-valve  handle  he  might  as  well 
have  been  holding  to  the  empty  casing  of  a  burned-out 
rocket,  so  far  as  the  safety  of  the  train  had  been  concerned, 
and  that  the  almost  human  action  of  the  wonderful  brake 
mechanism  had  automatically  taken  care  of  its  priceless 
human  freight,  at  the  first  crash  and  without  any  possible 
assistance  from  Horrigan. 

Horrigan  had,  indeed,  been  a  towering  figure  in  the  dis- 
cussion, whether  he  would  or  no,  but  he  had  found  himself 
strictly  on  the  defensive,  for  the  once,  and  having  made  the 
best  stand  he  could  against  the  none  too  gentle  impeachment 
and  innuendo  which  constantly  assailed  him,  there  had  been 
times  when  he  was  driven  almost  to  the  point  of  unobtru- 
sively leaving  Villa  Rica.  But  the  saving  reaction  had 
come,  at  last,  and  Villa  Rica  was  inclined  to  leave  him  to  ex- 
tract whatever  of  satisfaction  he  might  from  the  situation, 
and  say  no  more. 

Then  came  the  misfortune.  Horrigan  was  sitting  upon  a 
baggage  truck  at  the  station,  one  day  some  six  weeks  after 
the  Spire  Cut  doings,  talking,  with  returning  confidence,  to 
a  group  of  roadmen  standing  about.  Down  the  narrow  stair- 
way that  ascended  to  the  assistant  superintendent's  office, 

[172] 


HORRIGAN       S        MEDAL 

just  back  of  them,  a  clerk  came  clattering  into  the  midst  of 
them. 

"  See  Horrigan  around  here  anywhere?  "  he  asked  briskly. 
"  Oh ! "  he  added,  as  the  group  opened  a  little  farther  and 
brought  Horrigan  into  view  upon  the  truck. 

"  Say,  Horrigan,  the  Old  Man  has  a  letter  up  there  from 
those  Peace  on  Earth  people,  asking  him  to  give  you  this 
package  and  to  read  these  resolutions  to  you,  and  give  them 
to  you,  too  —  '  In  some  suitable  public  place '  the  letter  says. 

"  The  Old  Man  says  he  's  too  busy  and  I  'm  It.  Ready?  " 
he  asked,  handing  the  sealed  package  to  Horrigan  and  open- 
ing a  richly  bound  and  engrossed  document  which  he  retained. 

Horrigan  blankly  accepted  the  package  and,  for  the  rest 
of  it,  never  had  an  opportunity  to  answer.  A  shout  of  wild 
derision  went  up  and  men  slapped  each  other  upon  the  back, 
while  they  demanded  of  the  clerk  that  he  proceed  with  the 
reading.  Horrigan  sat  and  said  nothing. 

With  due  identification,  dates  and  preliminaries,  the  doc- 
ument opened,  and  the  listeners  granted  the  clerk  the  courtesy 
of  silence.  He  began  the  reading: 

"  Whereas,  In  the  course  of  this,  our  human  life, 
there  are  many  deadly  perils  in  which  men  should  stand 
firmly,  one  with  another,  and 

"Whereas;  The  qualities  of  human  courag^  and     ' 
durance  are  always  to  be  desired  and  commended 
more  especially  in  the  times  of  stress  and  danger     her. 
only  the  utmost  courage  will  suffice,  and 

"  Whereas ;  Our  brave  and  kindly  fellow  citizen, 
Jonas  Farwell  Horrigan  did,  on  the  Eighth  da}T  of  Au- 
gust, in  the  year  of  our  Lord  One  Thousand,  Nine  Hun- 
dred and  Blank,  exhibit  and  employ  these  admirable 

[173] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

qualities,  in  acts  of  conspicuous  heroism  and  bravery, 
to  our  lasting  good  and  gratitude,  therefore,  be  it,  and 
it  is 


"  Resolved,  That  we,  a  Committee  of  the  Society  for 
the  Promotion  of  Peace  on  Earth,  duly  appointed  and 
assembled,  do,  herein,  this  day  and  date,  extend  to  Jonas 
Farwell  Horrigan  the  sincere  thanks  and  the  undying 
respect  of  this  Association,  and  it  is 

"  Resolved,  That  a  medal  of  gold,  appropriately  de- 
signed, shall  be  provided  and  presented  to  Jonas  Farwell 
Horrigan,  with  a  suitably  engrossed  copy  of  these  reso- 
lutions, and  it  is 

"  Resolved,  That  a  copy  of  these  resolutions  be  spread 
upon  the  minutes  of  this  Association,  in  further  loving 
remembrance  of  Jonas  Farwell  Horrigan." 

The  signatures  followed  in  due  order,  and  when  the  voice 
of  the  clerk  ceased,  he  handed  the  document  to  Horrigan  in 
a  dead  silence  that  contrasted  sharply  with  the  earlier  burst 
of  derision.  Apparently,  nobody  now  felt  moved  to 
laughter.  The  thing  held  too  much  of  earnest  belief  in 
itself,  in  Horrigan,  too  much  of  the  rare,  good  milk  of  human 
kindness.  Who  could  laugh  at  such  a  motive,  whatever  its 
objective  might  be?  Nobody  laughed.  They  who  listened 
had  almost  come  to  believe  in  Horrigan's  heroism,  against 
their  own  expert  knowledge  of  the  event  in  question.  Horri- 
gan had  come,  almost,  to  believe  in  it  himself.  He  had  done 
what  he  could,  he  was  reasoning.  "  Nothing,"  prompted  his 
inner  consciousness.  But  his  pride  insisted,  and,  meanwhile, 
he  was  sitting,  pale-faced  and  with  downcast  eyes,  looking  at 
the  unopened  package  in  his  hand. 

[174] 


HORRIGAN       S        MEDAL 

"  Open  it,  Horrigan,"  said  some  one  very  quietly.  "  Let 's 
see  the  medal." 

He  removed  the  firm  wrappings  and  sprung  the  little 
clasp,  exposing  the  beautiful  thing  upon  its  cushion  of  pur- 
ple. Depending  from  its  richly  chased  cross-bar  was  a  lib- 
eral circle  of  solid  red  gold  like  that  of  olden  Rome  and 
upon  its  polished  face  this  inscription: 

To 
JONAS  FARWELL  HORRIGAN 

From 
THE  S.  P.  P.  O.  E. 

For  Conspicuous  Heroism 
August  8th,  190 — . 

The  reverse  side  bore  in  bas-relief  the  heroic  figure  of  a 
man,  warding  off,  with  bared  arm  upraised,  some  unseen 
danger,  before  the  advance  of  which  a  girlish  figure  cowered 
at  his  feet.  A  trophy,  truly,  fit  to  commemorate  the  best 
endeavor  of  any  man,  when  taken  with  the  earnest  message 
of  its  presentation. 

That,  until  the  time  of  his  going  from  Villa  Rica,  was  the 
one  occasion  upon  which  Horrigan,  being  present,  said  noth- 
ing. Having  fully  complied  with  the  request  of  those  who 
stood  about  him,  he  folded  his  possessions  away,  and  rising, 
passed  thoughtfully  up  the  street,  alone. 

When  he  had  gone,  one  of  those  who  lingered,  McPeltrie, 
ventured  the  opinion  that  the  deal  was  n't  so  far  off,  anyhow. 
Horrigan  had  stayed  with  the  engine.  He  was  there,  ready 
to  do  what  he  could,  and  a  man  who  had  gone  through  what 
he  had  at  Spire  Cut  and  come  out  of  it  with  as  good  as  a 
whole  skin  was,  maybe,  entitled  to  all  he  could  get  for  it. 

But,  it  would  not  do.  They  all  knew  the  truth  and  the 

[175] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

truth  would  not  down.  Red  Bill  Jones  was  the  only  hero  of 
Villa  Rica  and  Spire  Cut  and  Bill  was  nameless,  except  upon 
Villa  Rica  division.  It  was  not  right,  and  they  liked  right, 
first,  and  glory  afterward. 

Then  it  began,  all  over  again.  Somebody  hooted  from 
the  caboose-track  when  Horrigan  pulled  out  next  day. 
Somebody  laughed  when  he  signed  his  report  upon 
he  work-book,  at  his  return.  Somebody  tried  to  re- 
peat the  resolutions  from  memory,  in  a  caboose  that 
was  joggling  along  over  the  division  the  following  night,  and 
the  following  morning  found  a  savage  screed  of  doggerel 
verse  posted  upon  the  freight  house,  in  the  unfolding  of 
which  Horrigan  was  made  to  suffer  by  comparison,  while 
Red  Bill  Jones  was  glorified. 

It  crept  into  the  conversation  at  the  hotel  tables  when  Hor- 
rigan could  not  escape  and  was  not  directly  addressed.  He 
met  it,  by  implication,  at  every  street  corner  and  even  saw 
the  reflex  of  it  in  the  faces  of  the  children  who  passed  him  in 
the  street.  He  bore  it,  sometimes  in  fiercely  outspoken  anger, 
sometimes  in  sullen  silence,  until,  looking  from  his  cab  window 
close  against  the  coal  chutes,  one  evening  when  just  about  to 
pull  down  into  the  yards  for  the  start  upon  a  night  run,  he 
found  a  four-foot  placard  staring  at  him  from  the  wooden 
face  of  the  chutes. 

Evidently  produced  with  much  labor  and  the  aid  of  a 
marking-brush,  borrowed  from  the  freight  house,  this  is  what 
he  read: 

The  Eagle  Eye  stood  on  the  deck, 
The  flagman's  hair  was  red, 
That  deck  was  busted  good  and  hard, 
The  brake-valve  sure  was  dead. 

[176] 


HORRIGAN       S        MEDAL 

"  Aw,  what 's  the  use  ?  "  the  boys  all  said, 
"  The  Flagman  was  the  stuff !  " 
But  the  people  seen  the  Eagle  Eye 
And  never  called  his  bluff. 

Nothing  very  serious,  this,  in  the  way  of  an  indictment,  and 
yet,  it  struck  so  close  to  Horrigan's  own  inner  sense  of  the 
situation  that  it  was  the  one  last  straw  that  he  could  not  bear. 

Looking  at  his  watch  in  white-faced  anger,  he  found  he 
had  time  to  return  to  the  hotel  across  the  tracks.  Crossing 
hastily,  he  packed  into  an  irregular  bundle  his  few  possessions, 
gave  an  order  at  the  hotel  desk  against  his  wages  due,  took 
the  remaining  balance  due  him  in  cash  from  the  hotel  clerk's 
hand  when  his  bill  had  been  deducted,  and  making  his  way 
back  to  the  engine  without  encountering  anybody,  climbed 
aboard  with  his  bundle  and  in  due  time  departed  upon  his 
run. 

When  he  reached  Balceta,  at  the  farther  end  of  the  di- 
vision, late  that  night,  he  made  his  simple  preparations,  si- 
lently folded  the  tent  of  his  tenure  upon  the  Villa  Rica 
division,  as  it  were,  and  as  silently  stole  away. 

It  is  likely  that  Villa  Rica,  in  time,  might  have  accustomed 
itself  to  the  idea  of  the  medal,  even  though  it  had  never  be- 
come entirely  reconciled.  But  the  engrossed  resolutions 
added,  turned  loose  the  muse  of  every  caboose  poet  on  the 
line,  and  every  line  has  a  large  and  prolific  lot  of  them,  al- 
though they  will  not  all  confess.  After  that  phase  of  the 
matter  developed,  there  was  no  longer  a  hope  for  Horrigan's 
peace  of  mind  while  he  remained  upon  the  division. 


[177] 


CHAPTER  XII 
RECLAIMING  SHACKSTON 

4  4T  If  THAT  do  you-all  think  of  this  kleptomania  busi- 
V  V      ness   that  pokes   up  its   head,   every   now    and 
again  ?     And,  now,  I  don't  know  as  I  Jve  said  what  I  aimed 
to." 

Enderby's  well-modulated  voice  had  unconsciously  lapsed 
toward  the  soft  vernacular  of  the  high  country,  and  from  the 
far  look  in  his  eyes,  it  was  plain  that  his  mind  was  harking 
back  to  earlier  days  of  his  life  there.  Conversation  strangely 
lagged  upon  the  familiar  topics  with  which  the  morning  gath- 
ering at  the  roundhouse  water  tank  had  been  dallying,  and 
now  Enderby's  question  coupled  with  its  rare  inconsistency 
produced  only  an  uneasy  stirring  of  the  group.  That  no- 
body answered,  in  the  ready  manner  of  the  caucuses  at  the 
tank,  made  it  evident  that  there  was  an  undercurrent  astir 
which  no  one  had  yet  cared  to  bring  to  the  surface,  even 
though  all  were  awaiting  the  decent  and  orderly  development 
of  the  latest  main  topic  of  Villa  Rica  doings. 

"  I  carried  that  boy  in  my  arms  when  he  was  a  child  in 
swaddling  clothes;  or  near  about  that,"  said  Enderby,  pres- 
ently. He  had  correctly  assumed  that  one  common  thought 
was  buried  in  the  silence  which  followed  his  unanswered  ques- 
tion. 

"What  boy?"  demanded  Muller  gruffly,  well  knowing 
what  the  answer  would  be. 

[178] 


RECLAIMING      SHACKSTON 

For  some  months  at  irregular  intervals,  the  through  fast 
freight  to  the  coast  had  been  showing  a  series  of  trifling 
"  shorts  "  against  its  manifests  and  not  an  "  over  "  had  ap- 
peared in  the  locals,  or  elsewhere,  to  account  for  the  discrep- 
ancies. 

Careful  checking  at  terminals  left  but  one  conclusion  to  be 
drawn:  Somebody  was  stealing  from  the  train,  en  route. 
Therefore,  Summer's  special  service  men  had  been  cruising 
recently  from  Alta  Vista,  on  the  upper  division,  to  Villa  Rica 
or  Balceta  on  the  lower  division,  at  any  hour  and  upon  any 
train  that  suited  their  apparently  aimless  fancies,  as  hoboe, 
man-out-of-work,  or  what-not. 

Among  the  conductors  to  whom  the  fast  freight  was  of- 
tenest  intrusted  was  one  whose  quiet  voice  and  level  glance 
had,  with  his  clear-headed  willingness  to  use  every  minute 
the  despatcher  would  give,  made  for  him  a  friend  of  every 
engineer  on  the  division.  Thus  likeable  and  greatly  liked, 
he  was  the  last  man  that  Villa  Rica  would  have  picked  out 
for  the  part  of  a  thief,  but  a  final  comparison  of  notes  in  the 
process  of  elimination  which  had  been  going  on  secretly  for 
some  weeks  left  only  him  as  the  possible  culprit. 

And  now  it  had  just  leaked  from  the  wire  that  Summer  was 
coming  with  this  man,  a  prisoner  on  the  eastern  mail,  and 
that  they  would  breakfast  with  the  passengers  at  Villa  Rica, 
before  he  was  taken  on  to  Alta  Vista  to  await  trial. 

Muller's  big  engine,  vibrant  with  the  spirit  of  power,  ac- 
tion, freedom  of  the  high,  wild  places,  stood  glinting  in  the 
morning  sun,  upon  the  spur  track  before  the  depot,  waiting 
and  ready  to  take  the  coming  mail  train  eastward  over  the 
mountain. 

The  thought  of  a  man  whom  he  knew  and  liked,  being 
snared  out  of  that  bright  upper  country  like  an  eagle  trapped 

[179] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

from  the  rim-rock ;  shackled  and  hauled  away  to  a  stuffy  cage 
—  faugh !  Every  drop  of  good  red  blood  in  Muller's  virile 
body  revolted  against  the  task  of  pulling  a  former  comrade 
away  from  the  life  and  light  of  the  mountains  upon  such  a 
journey. 

Involuntarily,  he  shut  out  of  his  mind  the  nature  of  the 
offence.  Nothing  seemed,  in  the  calm  brightness  of  that 
morning,  to  justify  the  taking  of  a  mountain  man  away  from 
his  mountains. 

"  What  boy,  Enderby  ?  "  he  repeated  in  quick  impatience. 

"  Shackston ! "  replied  Enderby,  in  perfect  understanding 
of  Muller's  frame  of  mind. 

With  his  back  to  the  group,  he  stood,  for  a  moment,  look- 
ing over  against  the  purple  background  of  the  rim-rock,  then, 
turning,  he  said : 

"  And  now  I  'm  going  to  tell  you  boys  something ;  which 
is  what  I  'm  thinking,  first  off,  when  I  put  the  question  to 
you-all  about  kleptomania." 

Tightening  his  kindly  lips  and  looking  somewhat  aggres- 
sively at  first  one  and  then  another  of  the  group,  he  resumed 
his  seat  upon  the  bench,  with  much  precision. 

"  It  may  help  toward  the  right  seeing  of  this  business, 
which  I  make  no  delay  of  saying  is  a  scandal  and  a  sorrow 
to  us  all,  and  to  Villa  Rica.  For  I  'm  clear  in  my  mind  that 
the  boy  's  not  rightly  a  thief  by  nature. 

"  There  's  things  bigger  than  folks's  ideas  can  sometimes 
rightly  sense ;  things  that  the  A'mighty  made  to  be,  for  some 
purpose  —  and  I  don't  like  no  dad-danged  spotters,  nohow ; 
nor  never  did,  so  far  as  that 's  concerned ! "  he  broke  off  ab- 
ruptly at  the  close. 

"  Nor  me !  I  don't  consider  them  human,  scarcely ;  let 
alone  needful,"  rumbled  Muller  in  quick  accord,  glad  of  so 

[180] 


RECLAIMING      SHACKSTON 

ready  a  vent  for  his  suppressed  feelings  as  this  unlooked-for 
expression  from  calm  and  conservative  Enderby  afforded. 

"  I  would  n't  go  so  far  as  to  say  they  ain't  human,  hardly. 
But  I  say,  unhesitating,  that  it  gives  me  mighty  mixed  feel- 
ings to  have  'em  scenting  around  where  I  'm  working,"  En- 
derby conceded. 

"  Me  too !  "  responded  the  voice  of  every  man  in  the  group. 

"  But  here  's  what  I  'm  thinking  to  tell  you  about,"  En- 
derby continued. 

"  Long  enough  ago,  while  I  was  a  young  fellow  working 
down  yonder  as  a  sort  of  guard  and  extra  fireman ;  along 
about  the  time  that  Halpin  and  some  more  of  us  fellows 
picked  up  young  Dinwiddy ;  when  the  construction  train  was 
working  out  toward  Balceta,  along  by  the  Tonto  country, 
Shackston's  folks  run  the  boarding-house  car. 

"  Drifted  into  the  track  from  out  in  the  Tonto  Basin, 
somewheres ;  mebbe  running  shy  of  grub  drove  them  in,  we 
thought  then ;  but  it  did  n't  matter  what.  We  were  mighty 
glad  to  see  the  woman  come  in  to  cook  for  us. 

"  Just  the  old  man  Shackston,  there  was,  who  's  a  worth- 
less sort  of  cuss,  and  his  young  wife,  who  's  the  nearest  thing 
to  angels  any  of  us  ever  saw  in  that  country ;  and  the  baby, 
a  boy  going  three,  which  is  Shackston  that 's  coming  over  the 
mountain,  right  now,  with  a  ten-pound,  lead-soled  boot 
strapped  onto  him  and,  like  as  not,  a  pair  of  hand-cuffs, 
besides. 

"  It  just  shakes  me,  to  think  of  that  last ! 

"  Mrs.  Shackston  was  a  peart,  bright-eyed  little  woman, 
and  as  fine  as  a  fiddle.  She  dealt  the  grub  for  the  whole 
outfit,  long  as  she  stayed,  which  was  n't  so  very  long ;  and 
good  grub  as  ever  you  set  your  teeth  to  —  for  them  days 
and  places. 

[181] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

"  But  the  old  man  —  how  ever  she  come  to  be  coupled  on 
behind  such  an  old  kittle  as  him  is  a  question  in  my  mind, 
that 's  never  been  answered  yet. 

"  He  made  out  to  keep  up  the  cooking  fires  and  rustle 
enough  wood  for  the  same,  times  he  's  there,  but  he  went, 
pretty  frequent,  scouting  out  far  as  he  dared  venture,  toward 
the  Tonto  Basin,  shooting  jack  rabbits  and  such  small  stuff, 
and  saying  that  he  hears  of  a  gold  placer,  thereabouts,  that 
he  expected  to  dig  up,  and  thereby  fix  himself  proper. 

"  Did  n't  nobody  give  much  heed  to  his  goings  on,  till  he 
got  to  shipping  in  regular  supplies  of  forty-rod,  with  the 
grub  boxes,  and  tanking  up,  noisy  and  quarrelsome,  and  dis- 
appearing for  more  days  at  a  time  with  his  rifle,  over  to- 
wards the  Basin  country. 

"  That,  of  course,  interfered  with  the  grub  and  had  to 
be  looked  to.  So,  we  talked  to  old  Shackston  some  decent 
about  it,  but  he  only  got  drunker  and  sassier,  until,  finally, 
things  worked  themselves  to  a  head-ender. 

"  One  night,  just  as  the  stars  were  beginning  to  show  up 
right  bright  above  the  dusk  of  the  plains,  old  Shackston 
comes  trailing  in  from  somewheres  out  in  the  hills,  bringing 
along  a  scurvy-looking  half-breed,  and  both  of  them  sullen 
and  sour  drunk. 

"  'T  ain't  long  till  he  opens  up  on  Mrs.  Shackston,  mighty 
cruel  and  indecent,  and  allows  grub  ought  to  been  ready  for 
him  and  his  friend,  when  he  gets  home ;  where 's  he  been 
gone  all  of  three  days  and  she  's  then  setting  on  an  old 
three-leg  stool  beside  the  track,  swinging  the  little  fellow 
back  and  forth  on  her  knees  and  singing  some  of  them  old 
tunes  that  puts  young  ones  to  sleep.  It  all  happens  mighty 
quick,  you  see. 

"  We  're  setting  camped  around  her  on  the  ground,  sraok- 

[182] 


RECLAIMING      SHACKSTON 

ing  and  sort  of  thinking  way  back  in  our  heads  qui,et-like, 
listening  to  the  music  she  's  making  and  kind  of  liking  the 
sound  of  the  little  fellow  crowing  up  at  the  stars,  when  old 
Shackston  turns  mean  and  violent,  all  of  a  sudden,  and  be- 
gins to  tell  that  he  's  got  more  friends  in  that  country  than 
she  has,  and  like  that. 

"  Well,  of  course,  we  see  that  there  's  trouble  of  some  kind 
coming  close,  and  one  or  two  of  the  boys  gets  far  enough 
toward  action  to  tighten  up  their  belts  a  notch  or  two,  setting 
as  we  be,  and  no  clear  call  as  yet  to  interfere,  as  betwixt  man 
and  wife. 

"  But  not  the  readiest  man  in  the  bunch  is  reckoning  on 
what  happens  next. 

"  With  no  more  notice  at  all,  he  pulls  a  flask  of  liquor  out 
of  his  shirt  and  downs  half  of  it  without  taking  breath,  and 
hands  the  bottle  to  the  half-breed  who,  likewise,  finishes  it, 
and  smashes  the  bottle  to  bits  against  the  side  of  the  grub- 
car;  which  is  all  mighty  insulting,  you  see. 

"  The  little  fellow,  that 's  Shackston  that 's  coming  now 
on  the  mail,  starts  up  sudden,  crying  out,  childlike,  and  that 
seems  to  loco  the  worthless  old  cuss  entire. 

"  He  lets  out  a  yell  like  a  sure  enough  Apache  and  swings 
his  rifle  off  of  the  ground,  and  the  next  second  the  butt  of  it 
crashes  down  on  that  little  woman's  head  and  she  rolls  off  of 
the  stool  onto  the  ground  without  a  moan ;  and  the  baby  all 
tumbled  up  into  her  lap." 

"Did  you  down  him,  Pap?"  demanded  Muller,  who  was 
now  sitting  bolt  upright,  with  both  hands  clutching  the 
bench. 

"  Not  just  then,"  said  Enderby  quietly. 

"  'T  ain't  a  minute,  't  ain't  half  of  that,  nor  it  don't  seem 
like  no  time  at  all,  sudden  as  the  signal  comes  to  us,  til] 

[183] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

we  are  all  up  and  at  them,  but  the  old  renegade  downs  a  couple 
of  our  boys  with  his  rifle  before  we  can  rightly  get  into 
action,  and  dodging  under  the  grub-car,  him  and  the  half- 
breed  mounts  a  couple  of  horses  that  they  've  tied  up  from 
the  bunch  the  scraper  gang 's  using  that  day,  and  unbe- 
known to  the  fellow  that  was  supposed  to  be  guarding  them 
night  and  day. 

"  And  they  get  a  clean  start  of  us  toward  the  mountains 
in  the  dusk  —  both  of  them  but  the  half-breed,  that  is, 
because  I  thought  best  to  keep  looking  after  him,  close,  from 
the  time  he  struck  camp  and  sidled  up  towards  the  woman 
and  the  boy. 

"  He  did  n't  get  far  beyond  t'  other  side  of  the  grub-car ; 
not  far  enough  to  speak  of. 

"  But  old  Shackston  made  a  clean  get-away,  for  then,  hard 
as  we  chased  him  that  night,  after  we  had  saddled  up  the  work 
horses  that  was  left. 

"  By  sun-up  next  morning  we  had  trailed  him  far  enough 
to  see  that  he  was  circling  toward  the  Sacromonte  country 
and  we  knew  that  if  he  got  into  that  bunch  of  rocks  and 
outlaws  a  regiment  could  n't  get  him,  lessen  he  'd  poke  up 
his  head  for  some  reason  not  seen. 

"  But  we  kept  a-going,  with  all  work  stopped  at  the  camp 
till  the  finish  comes. 

"  He 's  a  wolf,  that  fellow,  and  knows  all  the  tricks  of 
them.  That 's  plain  to  us  before  we  follow  him  far.  On  the 
base  of  the  Sacromonte  he  gives  us  the  slip  complete,  dou- 
bling back  toward  the  tracks,  and  we  see  and  hear  no  more 
of  him,  until  about  sun-down. 

"  Then,  while  we  are  scouting  the  side  of  the  mountain, 
among  the  rocks,  a  riot  breaks  out  down  in  the  direction  of 

[184] 


RECLAIMING      SHACKS  TON 

the  old  stage  trail,  and  we,  hurrying  down,  run  fair  into 
Shackston  and  three  Mexicans  galloping  up  the  draw  of 
the  lower  canyon,  and  there  we  had  it. 

"  They  hopped  off  and  lined  up  behind  the  rocks  and 
turned  loose  a  bunch  of  lead  that  cost  us  three  men  out  of 
the  saddle  before  we  could  get  to  cover.  It  was  an  hour 
of  sharpshooting,  then,  with  their  horses  running  loose  in 
the  smoke,  before  the  Mexicans  had  burnt  all  their  powder 
and  sneaked  away  among  the  rocks,  dragging  one  of  their 
crowd,  as  it  looked  afterward. 

"  It  was  too  hot  for  them,  and  they  did  n't  even  stop  to 
catch  up  their  horses  but  left  old  Shackston  to  fight  it  out 
alone.  He  was  game  to  the  finish,  which  I  mention  special, 
account  of  its  being  a  good  streak  in  a  mighty  bad  man. 

"  We  holed  him  up,  at  last,  behind  a  bowlder,  with  his 
gun  empty  and  clubbed,  standing  with  his  back  to  the  rock 
and  his  feet  on  the  sack  of  gold  that  they  grabbed  off  of  the 
buckboard,  and  him  ready  and  willing  to  go  on  fighting  for 
it  with  his  one  good  arm,  his  left  arm  being  ball-shattered. 

"  It 's  the  contractor's  buckboard,  which  was  on  the  way 
to  pay  off  the  construction  gang,  and  that 's  the  cause  of 
the  uproar  we  had  heard  down  below. 

"  The  crippled-up  guard  from  the  buckboard  had  patched 
themselves  up  some,  by  then,  and  came  straggling  up  the 
side  of  the  mountain,  game  and  good,  and  it  was  one  of 
them  that  run  in  and  clubbed  Shackston  to  a  standstill,  with 
his  gun-stock,  after  our  gang  had  settled  that  he  had  to  be 
caught  alive. 

"  We  splinted  his  busted  arm  fast  to  his  rifle-barrel,  tied 
him  onto  a  horse,  and  took  him  back  to  camp  at  the  end  of 
track. 

[185] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  We  held  court  there,  spite  of  the  buckboard  guards, 
that,  by  then,  wanted  to  take  him  to  headquarters  for  trial 
in  the  territory  court. 

"  When  the  stars  were  out  again  that  night,  he  was  swinging 
all  quiet,  from  the  derrick  of  the  timber-car,  while  the  buck- 
board  gun-folks  told  us  how  that  he  was  one  of  the  beatenest 
outlaws  and  cattle  rustlers  that  ever  pestered  the  Tonto  coun- 
try ;  and  he  'd  been  that,  all  unbeknown  to  the  little  woman 
that  was  then  lying,  still  and  peaceful,  in  the  house-car, 
with  her  camp  lights  gone  out  complete. 

"  She  thought  he  was  square  as  she  was  while  it  appears 
that,  'stead  of  prospecting  and  the  like,  as  he  had  told  her, 
he  'd  turned  hold-up  entire. 

"  On  her  account,  we  laid  'em  away,  all  decent  and  re- 
spectful, side  by  side,  that  night  when  the  moon  was  climbing 
up  way  off  over  the  head  of  Sacromonte ;  and  that 's  the  two 
mounds  you  see  by  the  track,  going  by  down  there,  that 's 
always  been  kept  up,  neat  like,  by  the  boys  setting  bits  of 
onyx  and  such  around  the  borders  of  them,  times  when  they 
are  laying  on  the  siding,  for  the  mail  to  go  by,  or  like  that. 

"  No  markers  nor  epitaphs,  of  course,  there  being  nothing 
much  to  say ;  and  it  would  n't  do,  nohow,  seeing  it  would 
have  told  the  whole  story  to  young  Shackston,  which  was  no 
part  of  the  intentions  of  me  and  the  boys  that  took  him  up, 
so  to  say,  when  he  's  orphaned  that  suddenly. 

"  Yes,  the  construction  camp  stood  to  care  for  the  little 
chap,  until  he  could  be  better  placed,  and  one  and  another 
of  us  old-timers  made  it  a  point  to  sort  of  look  after  his 
interests  up  to  the  time  when  he 's  able  to  place  himself,  man 
fashion,  on  the  road. 

"  And  I  put  it  to  you  all  whether  our  interests  in  him 
don't  seem  to  be  justified  —  barring  the  present  events  — 

[186] 


RECLAIMING      SHACKSTON 

for  there  ain't  an  abler  little  gentleman,  nor  a  clearer  head, 
on  the  two  divisions  than  young  Shackston.  That 's  the  Mrs. 
Shackston  in  him. 

"  I  tell  you  it  gives  me  feelings  when  I  think  of  that  boy 
coming  over  on  the  mail,  like  he  is  this  morning  —  that 's  the 
old  Shackston  in  him  —  and  I  'm  mighty  mixed  in  them  feel- 
ings about  Summer's  smell-dogs,  tracking  him  up  this  way, 
stealthy  and  deceitful  like,  'stead  of  giving  folks  that  know 
about  these  things  a  chance  to  say  a  decent  word  to  him,  all 
quiet,  and  wean  him  from  these  Shackston  ways  that 's  likely 
only  cropped  out  temporary,  same  as  rash  onto  a  baby. 

"But,  who'd  a-guessed  he  was  needing  help?"  the  old 
man  asked,  in  more  evident  distress  than  any  of  the  water 
tank  gathering  had  ever  before  detected  in  his  usually  calm 
contentment. 

The  mournful  chime  of  the  oncoming  mail  quavered  down 
through  the  silence  which  followed,  and  the  dark  bulk  of 
her  rolled  through  the  western  pass  and  glided  steadily  down 
the  steep  incline  to  the  station. 

The  group  at  the  tank,  still  silent,  transferred  itself  to  a 
vantage-point  along  the  little  plat  of  grass  before  the  sta- 
tion entrance,  but  when  the  clean-featured  young  man  who 
stepped  off  the  smoker  ahead  of  Summer  swung  his  heavy, 
leaden  foot  along  the  platform,  his  eyes  did  not  lift  to  the 
friendly  faces  which  were  there  to  greet  him. 

Summer,  whose  daily  creed  and  whose  perhaps  necessary 
calling  admonished  him  only  that  a  thief  is  a  thief,  "  An  eye 
for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,"  seemed  to  mistake  the  mur- 
mur which  ran  through  the  group,  and  he  thrust  the  prisoner 
more  hurriedly  into  the  eating-house  door. 

Muller  was  backing  down  upon  the  train  with  his  engine 
when  the  shamed  face  of  the  young  man  reappeared,  coming 

[187] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

from  the  dining-room,  but  the  others  still  lingered  with 
Enderby  along  the  platform. 

When  Summer  and  the  young  man  again  came  abreast  of 
Enderby  the  old  man  stepped  forward,  extending  his  hand, 
and  the  group,  with  one  impulse,  closed  slowly  in  about 
them. 

"  Steady  there ! "  said  Summer,  with  a  metallic  ring  in  his 
voice  which  promised  quick  action,  as  his  hand  leaped  to  the 
butt  of  his  revolver. 

"  Steady  enough,"  replied  Enderby,  calmly,  but  with  some- 
thing of  a  definite  quality  in  his  voice  that  held  no  sound  of 
battle.  "  I  want  a  word  with  the  boy,  all  open  and  free," 
said  he,  and  proceeded  to  have  it  without  awaiting  a  question 
of  consent. 

"  Stand  up  like  the  man  that  you  were  —  and  the  man  that 
you  are !  You  have  friends  here.  And  when  it 's  over,  why, 
come  back.  Don't  forget  that,  boy !  Come  back !  And  I  'm 
thinking  it  won't  be  long. 

"That's  all.     Good-bye!" 

"  Good-bye ! "  echoed  the  group  as  it  opened  the  way,  and 
the  young  man  dragged  his  leaden  boot  up  the  steps  of  the 
car. 

Turning  upon  the  car  platform,  he  looked  down  upon 
them  with  the  first  smile  that  had  shown  upon  his  face. 
Then  his  jaw  tightened,  showing  the  real  strength  of  him, 
and  he  said: 

"  Good-bye,  Pap !     Good-bye,  boys !     I  '11  come." 

"  Ho,  Enderby ! "  called  Muller's  rumbling  voice  from  the 
gangway  of  the  engine,  where  he  was  huddled  down,  reading 
an  order. 

"  According  to  this,"  said  he,  handing  the  order  to 
Enderby,  "  we  are  heading  in  at  Sweetwater,  to  let  the  gen- 

[188] 


RECLAIMING      SHACKSTON 

eral  manager's  special  go  by.     He  's  likely  making  for  the 
Harmony  mines,  for  a  side  trip. 

"  You  '11  be  laying  over  and  you  '11  pull  him  up  there,  I 
suppose.  There  's  no  other  engine  free.  Now,  say,"  and 
Muller's  voice  took  on  a  deeper  rumble,  which  in  a  weaker 
man  might  have  been  merely  a  tremble  of  intensity,  "  You 
just  tell  Sharer  the  inside  of  this  mere  off-shoot  theory  of 
yours,  same  as  you  told  it  at  the  tank  —  will  you? 

"  You  just  tell  him  what  that  Mrs.  Shackston  was  like  and 
about  her  singing  to  the  boy  that  night.  He  's  a  judge  of 
good  stock,  and  has  young  ones  of  his  own. 

"  Ask  him  to  take  a  look  at  young  Shackston,  and  if  that 
boy  is  n't  back  here  on  his  j  ob,  as  soon  as  the  good  of  the 
service  will  allow,  you  don't  need  to  count  my  guess  any 
more  —  not  ever"  he  added  by  way  of  emphasis,  as  he 
reached  for  the  order  and  straightened  up  upon  the  engine 
deck,  ponderously. 

"  I  '11  sure  do  it ! "  nodded  Enderby,  vigorously,  as  he 
turned  back  toward  the  waiting  group,  and  those  who  stood 
nearest  where  he  passed  on  to  the  roundhouse  heard  him  say, 
to  none  of  them  in  particular : 

"  It  seems  almost  providential !  " 

Meanwhile,  the  mail  train  had  been  slipping  away  from 
the  depot,  and  the  fierce  cannonade  of  exhausts  from  the 
engine  dragging  upward  at  an  unusual  pace  was  relieving  the 
feelings  of  Muller,  although  its  echoing  roar  did  not  en- 
courage further  conversation  at  the  station. 

That  evening,  while  the  bitter  truth  of  his  condition  was 
searing  the  soul  of  Shackston  in  the  prison  of  distant  Alta 
Vista,  Enderby,  about  to  depart  upon  the  return  trip  from 
the  mines,  stood  beside  his  engine  in  Harmony  Gulch  talking 
earnestly  with  the  general  manager. 

[189] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  Yes,"  the  general  manager  was  saying,  "  I  know  Shacks- 
ton  and  have  been  observing  him,  for  some  years,  as  a  prom- 
ising man.  But  what  can  be  said  for  a  thief,  Enderby,  a 
man  who  would  steal  from  a  train  in  his  charge?  " 

Enderby,  strong  in  the  unfailing  friendship  of  many  years' 
acquaintance  with  Sharer,  replied: 

"  Nothing,  in  the  common  run  of  such  doings,  I  reckon, 
but  for  this  boy,  Shackston,  it  can  be  said  that,  until  now, 
ne'er  spot  nor  blemish  is  there  on  his  record.  And  more  than 
that." 

Following  which  he  unfolded  the  hunger-bitten  tale  of  the 
lonely  little  woman  of  the  Tonto  country  and  the  tragic  way 
in  which  the  construction  camp,  and  finally  the  railroad,  fell 
heir  to  the  boy,  Shackston. 

"  This  latter  doing  is  not  the  boy's  self,  I  hold.  It 's 
a  mere  flash  in  the  pan  of  his  making! 

"  I  ask  you,  Mr.  Sharer,  could  you  give  him  another  try- 
out  ?  He  will  never  fall  again !  " 

"  Enderby,  you  have  enlisted  my  sympathy  where  my 
judgment  rebels.  No,"  Sharer  quickly  corrected,  "  rather, 
where  my  duty  appears  to  conflict.  I  see  no  way  to  main- 
tain the  discipline  without  having  Shackston  stand  his  trial 
and  abide  by  the  result." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Enderby,  turning  sadly  toward  the 
engine  step.  "  I  had  hopes  — " 

"  I  would  say  this,  however,"  interrupted  Sharer,  gently 
laying  his  arm  across  the  shoulders  of  his  stripling  son,  who 
approached  from  the  car.  "  If  the  court  at  Alta  Vista  could 
be  made  to  see  the  matter  as  you  have  shown  it,  I  should  be 
willing  to  consider  Shackston's  case  very  carefully,  after- 
ward. Good-night,  Enderby ! " 

"  Good-night ! "  replied  Enderby,  as  he  grasped  Sharer's 

[190] 


RECLAIMING      SHACKSTON 

extended  hand,  and  climbed  upon  the  engine,  flushed  with  a 
revulsion  of  hope  that  had  fled. 

Late  in  the  forenoon  of  one  of  the  many  bitter  long  days 
which  had  dragged  their  slow  length  away  since  Shackston  was 
imprisoned,  Enderby  alighted  from  the  smoker  of  Muller's 
fast  mail  at  Alta  Vista,  and  made  his  way  strongly  up  the 
long  steep  street  to  the  courthouse  and  prison  that  huddled 
under  the  cliff. 

He  threaded  his  way  among  the  patient  cow-ponies  that 
stood,  numerously,  with  drooping  heads  and  trailing  bridle- 
reins,  outside  the  doors,  and  entering  the  crowded  little  court- 
room, seated  himself  inside  the  railed  enclosure  of  the  bar, 
beside  the  surprised  Shackston. 

"  Leave  it  to  me,  boy ! "  was  all  that  passed  in  whispered 
greeting,  as  their  hands  closed  in  a  strong  clasp. 

The  walls  of  the  little  territorial  court-room  have  listened 
to  many  a  strange  story  and  looked  down  upon  many  a 
stolid,  many  a  tragic  scene,  and  among  its  numerous  records, 
the  clear,  brief  record  of  the  trial  of  Shackston  stands  not 
unique  or  alone  in  its  plain  wisdom. 

"  Commonwealth  against  Shackston ! "  called  the  court 
clerk,  even  while  Enderby  whispered  his  brief  admonition. 
"  Royal  Shackston  to  the  bar!" 

The  twelve  men  of  the  jury  were  already  drawn  and  seated 
when  Enderby  arrived,  and  in  it  were  weather-tanned  men 
grown  old  and  full  of  the  wisdom  that  comes  of  the  high 
places  of  the  open.  A  garish,  round  window  of  stained 
glass,  high  up  in  the  eastern  gable,  was  pouring  its  vari- 
colored light  upon  them  and  playing  grotesquely  with  their 
dust-stained  faces  and  garments,  for  which  there  had  re- 
mained no  time  for  refreshment  after  their  long  ride  in  an- 

[191] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

swer  to  the  summons  of  the  court.  Standing  before  them, 
Shackston  listened  to  the  reading  of  an  indictment  which, 
in  the  otherwise  silent  room,  seemed  to  his  unaccustomed  ears 
to  be  swiftly  sinking  him  to  the  blackest  depths  of  an  infamy 
he  had  never  known. 

"  What  say  you?  Guilty  or  not  guilty?  "  came  the  ques- 
tion, at  the  last. 

Speechless  and  downcast,  he  stood  for  a  moment,  and  the 
court-room  became  deathly  in  its  silence. 

"Have  you  a  lawyer?"  spoke  the  judge,  methodically. 
"  You  are  entitled  to  plead  '  Guilty,'  '  Not  guilty,'  or  to 
enter  no  plea  at  all.  Who  is  your  lawyer?  " 

"  I  will  make  no  plea,"  said  Shackston  slowly.  "  I  have 
no  lawyer.  I  have  only  a  friend  who  knows  my  case :  Mark 
Enderby.  Could  I  be  allowed  to  stand  by  what  he  can  do 
for  me?  " 

The  venerable  judge,  wise  in  the  annals  of  the  high  coun- 
try long  before  the  railroad  had  entered  there,  studying 
Enderby's  honest,  upturned  face  replied: 

"  The  court  sees  no  objection,  if  the  commonwealth  con- 
sents." 

And  thus,  the  ambitious  young  prosecutor,  seeing  prob- 
able easy  victory  ahead,  and  prestige  growing  out  of  a 
railroad  conviction,  smilingly  assented  and  proceeded  with 
his  arraignment.  By  Summer  and  his  men  the  offence  was 
proven,  and  for  Shackston  there  were  no  witnesses.  The 
brilliant  peroration  of  the  young  prosecutor  bristled  and 
stabbed  with  flights  of  invective  against  the  betrayal  of  a 
trust,  breaking  and  entering,  larceny,  felony,  while  Enderby, 
searching  the  faces  of  the  jurymen,  saw  no  answering  light 
of  enthusiasm  there  and  his  heart  beat  high  with  hope. 

[192] 


RECLAIMING      SHACKSTON 

It  was  finished,  shortly,  and  Enderby,  at  a  nod  from  the 
judge,  arose. 

"  If  this  boy  will  waive  his  right  to  be  present,  as  he 's 
set  aside  his  right  to  a  lawyer,  naming  me  instead,  I  'm 
minded  to  say  a  little  to  these  men  here,"  nodding  toward 
the  jury,  "  which  it  ain't  needful  that  the  boy  should  hear," 
announced  Enderby  firmly. 

When  Shackston  had  been  withdrawn  from  the  room, 
Enderby  turned  toward  the  jury  and  in  that  moment  forgot 
the  tense,  silent  audience,  the  lawyers,  the  court;  all,  except 
the  twelve  men  gazing  directly  at  him,  and  they  seemed  as 
familiar  and  friendly  as  one  of  the  tank  bench  gatherings  at 
Villa  Rica. 

In  the  midst  of  them  sat  a  white-haired  veteran  of  the 
mountains  upon  whose  snowy  head  and  beard  the  little  gable 
window  was  pouring  a  shaft  of  golden  sunlight  that  seemed 
to  centre  him  among  his  fellows  like  a  snow-capped  peak 
in  the  morning  light  of  the  plains. 

Before  him,  Enderby  seated  himself  upon  the  chair  which 
he  supplied  to  himself,  in  unconscious  disregard  of  the  ways 
of  courts. 

"  You  have  heard,"  he  began  without  prelude.  "  The 
boy  don't  deny  it,  but  what  did  he  take? 

"  Little,  high-smelling  things  to  eat !  And  the  wealth 
of  a  fast  freight  to  the  coast  laying  all  around  his  feet, 
once  he  's  made  the  mistake  of  going  into  a  car  where  he 
has  no  business ! 

"  Things  to  eat ! "  he  repeated,  "  with  a  heaping  plenty  of 
grub  already  in  his  way-car  and  at  both  ends  of  the  division, 
which  rightly  belongs  to  him,  same  as  we  all  have!  Why 
did  he? 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  Now  I  'm  a-going  to  tell  you  boys  something,"  said 
Enderby,  in  the  words  of  his  earlier  announcement  at  Villa 
Rica  tank,  and  he  was  proceeding  with  the  story  of 
Shackston. 

"Oh,  your  honor,  we  must  object!"  said  the  prosecutor. 
"  It  is  not  in  the  evidence.  And  to  what  end  is  it  told?  " 

"  To  prove  the  character  of  the  boy ! "  said  Enderby, 
quietly,  arising  and  standing  before  the  court. 

"  Maybe  as  well  to  swear  me,  if  that  will  make  it  better 
evidence,  for  what  I  'm  holding  is  that  this  boy  is  his  moth- 
er's son,  body  and  soul,  and  that  what  he  's  lately  done  ain't 
no  more  to  the  man  he  '11  be  than  measles  are,  when  they  are 
done  and  gone !  " 

"  You  may  proceed,"  said  the  judge,  and  Enderby  resumed 
his  seat  before  the  jury. 

When  the  tale  was  told  and  Enderby  had  made  clear  his 
theory  of  unnatural  hunger  at  the  smell  of  car-stores;  of 
the  bitter,  starved  existence  of  parents  and  the  stray  out- 
crop of  a  nomad  father's  trait  in  a  clean  and  manly  son, 
tears  had  furrowed  the  dust  upon  the  cheeks  of  the  white- 
haired  juror  and  were  sparkling,  unnoticed  by  him,  upon  his 
sun-shot  beard. 

"  What  do  you  all  think  of  this  business  ?  "  said  Enderby's 
calm  voice,  as  he  picked  up  his  chair,  and  then  withdrew  to 
a  place  beside  Shackston's  empty  seat. 

"  The  commonwealth  closes ! "  said  the  young  prosecutor, 
in  subdued  accents,  as  his  eyes  hastily  ran  over  the  faces  of 
the  jury. 

"Bring  in  the  defendant!"  said  the  judge. 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  said  he,  when  Shackston  had 
resumed  his  place  at  the  bar,  "  you  cannot  do  otherwise  than 
to  find  this  defendant  guilty,  under  the  evidence  produced. 

[194] 


RECLAIMING      SHACKSTON 

But,  the  court  will  consider  any  recommendation  that  the 
jury  may  wish  to  make." 

"  Guilty ! "  said  the  white-haired  juror,  arising  after  a 
short  conference.  "  The  jury  recommends  that  the  boy  be 
paroled  in  the  custody  of  his  lawyer ! " 

"  The  boy  is  paroled,  in  the  custody  of  his  lawyer, 
Mark  Enderby,"  echoed  the  judge  while  his  austere  old  face 
softened  almost  to  a  smile  and  his  eyes  lingered  for  a  time 
upon  Enderby  and  Shackston. 

And  that  is  what  made  it  possible  for  Sharer  to  consider 
Shackston's  case  very  carefully ;  and  for  Shackston,  now  that 
those  bitter  days  are  long  gone,  to  hold  his  honored  place 
among  the  best  of  men  —  which  is  to  say,  he  is  busy  and 
happy  among  the  older  boys  of  Villa  Rica. 


[195] 


CHAPTER  XIII 
JOHNNIE 

FOR  seven  years,  John  Parry  wrought  the  effort  of  his 
brilliant  mind  and  great  strength  into  the  physical 
welfare  of  railroads  in  Chicago,  and  into  the  making  of 
permanent  ways  upon  the  broad  levels  of  Kansas  and  the 
near  uplands  westward.  Meanwhile,  out  of  the  fulness  of 
his  uncalculating  love  for  his  fellows,  he  had  named  every 
man  brother  and  made  light  of  the  oft-times  heavy  burden  of 
the  day. 

Seven  busy,  happy  years  they  were,  in  the  flush  of  his 
prime  manhood,  and  then  a  stealthy  blight  began  showing 
in  his  big,  sunny  face  and  clutching  at  his  sturdy  heart. 
The  red  flush  of  his  strength  receded  and  left  him  wan-faced, 
with  the  far  gaze  that  grows  in  the  eyes  of  a  strong  man 
gone  weak  in  the  menace  of  the  white  death. 

The  time  came  when  encroaching  weakness  became  greater 
than  the  call  of  the  tracks  which  he  had  laid  and  maintained ; 
greater  than  the  deep  drumming  of  the  bridges  he  had  built, 
the  plaint  of  the  turbulent  streams  which  he  had  conquered 
and  restrained.  He  was  no  longer  able  to  go  strongly  afield 
when  the  need  arose,  and  the  cross-hairs  of  the  transit  and 
the  slender  lines  of  office  drawings,  alike,  ran  dim  and  blurred 
before  his  smiling,  straining  eyes.  It  seemed  evident  to  all 
but  him  that  he  must  go  higher  in  search  of  relief,  or  pass 
out  swiftly  and  for  all  from  the  fierce,  changing,  weather- 
moods  of  the  low  country. 

[196  J 


JOHNNIE 

From  the  multitude  of  his  duties  as  stalwart  leader  of  the 
local  engineer  corps  the  heaviest  portions  were  lifted,  one 
by  one,  until,  almost  unawares,  men  had  come  to  speak  of 
him  in  a  subdued  but  still  loyal  way  as  "  Johnnie  " —  he 
who  had  so  long  and  so  well  set  the  pace  for  the  corps. 
And  he,  likewise  but  half  aware  of  the  true  significance  of 
it  all,  had  tacitly  accepted  the  modest  re-christening,  which 
had  grown  out  of  heartfelt  pity  for  his  weakness. 

He  read  the  whole  truth,  at  last,  in  the  tolerant  eyes  of 
those  around  him;  or,  at  least,  far  more  of  it  than  he  had 
ever  admitted  to  the  road  surgeon,  whose  blunt  admonitions 
to  let  go  and  retreat  for  a  time  to  the  mountains  had  thus 
far  brought  forth  only  the  brave  echo  of  a  former  resonant 
laugh,  while  he  stayed  and  labored  on,  according  to  his 
fitful  strength. 

But  now,  he  yielded  to  the  inevitable.  Believing  it  best 
for  them,  he  prevailed  upon  his  pleading  wife  to  return, 
temporarily,  to  Chicago,  with  their  two  chubby  boys.  Then, 
he  bade  a  bravely  smiling  farewell  to  the  assembled  engineer 
corps,  and  following  his  travel-worn  trunks  into  the  all- 
receiving  maw  of  the  Overland  Express,  departed,  alone,  for 
the  high  country,  wherein  Balceta  was  then  the  Alpha  and 
Omega  of  the  farther  railroad  doings,  and,  indeed,  for  many 
another  in  case  like  his,  had  been  the  end  of  all  things 
earthly. 

Yet,  there  were  those  who  had  vanquished,  at  even  closer 
and  more  deadly  holds,  the  foe  that  now  beset  him  and  who 
had  come  back  out  of  the  high  country,  if  not  hale  men 
and  hearty,  yet  very  good  men.  So,  with  a  stoop  in  his 
big  body,  the  more  pathetic  because  he  sought  so  hard  to 
straighten  himself  against  it,  and  a  smile  in  his  heart  which 
not  even  the  apathy  of  the  plague  could  dim  wholly  from  his 

[197] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

face;  hoping  and  not  alone  in  that  hope,  he  went  out  to 
battle  for  life  in  the  mountains  —  and  to  be  canonized  as 
the  only  living  saint  that  Balceta,  the  engineer  corps,  or 
perhaps  any  one  else,  has  ever  known ;  but  that  statement 
is  somewhat  ahead  of  the  event. 

When  Johnnie  stepped,  none  too  strongly,  from  the  ex- 
press at  Balceta,  Stoner,  principal  assistant  engineer  of  the 
mountain  divisions,  was  there  with  his  strong,  brown  hand 
extended.  As  his  great  grip  closed  gently  upon  Johnnie's 
hand  he  said  quite  simply : 

"  Howdy,  old  man !  Glad  to  see  you.  Come  over  to  my 
house  until  you  get  settled.  But,  first,  come  across  the 
track  here  and  shake  hands  with  Mark  Enderby.  Villa  Rica 
man.  He  's  wholesome." 

The  rest  of  Balceta,  in  the  stereotyped  expression  of  bluff 
kindness  which  long  familiarity  with  such  arrivals  had  bred, 
merely  said  aside: 

"  Who  's  the  new  *  lunger '  with  Stoner?  " 

"  Enderby,"  said  Stoner,  when  they  had  reached  the  place 
where  Mark  was  peering  and  stooping  beside  his  engine, 
"  shake  hands  with  Johnnie  Parry.  Guess  you  never  knew 
him,  but  you  will  and  he 's  all  right  —  or  will  be,  soon. 
He 's  going  to  work  with  us  out  here,  a  while.  Shake, 
Parry.  Mark  's  a  good  bit  of  gay  young  scamp,  with  an 
engine.  Raises  thunder  with  my  bridges  and  things,  but 
he  '11  do." 

Enderby  straightened,  with  a  flushed  smile,  and  searched 
Parry's  amused  face  for  a  moment,  while  he  wiped  his  hands 
upon  a  bit  of  cotton  waste. 

"  No,"  he  said  as  he  grasped  Parry's  hand,  "  I  never  knew 
him,  but  I  am  very  glad  to  know  you,  now,  Mr.  Parry." 

"  And  I  the  same,"  replied  Parry,  while  his  eyes  sobered 

[198] 


JOHNNIE 

into  intent  study  of  Enderby's  face,  "  except  that  I  believe 
I  already  know  you,  in  a  way.  Did  you  once  run  out  of 
Chicago?" 

"  I  did,"  said  Enderby,  "  for  a  year  or  two,  while  my 
daughter  was  at  school,  near  there." 

"  I  thought  so !  "  replied  Parry.  "  You  pulled  me  upon 
the  great  trip  of  my  life  —  my  wedding  trip.  And  now, 
I  am  here  to  have  you  men  and  your  mountains  help  me  to 
pull  myself  back  upon  another  journey,  if  you  will,  back 
to  the  solid  ground  of  health  that  has  been  trying  to  play 
the  deserter." 

When  the  meeting  was  briefly  through  with,  and  the  stir- 
ring scene  of  that  bright  morning  of  long  ago  in  the  arch 
of  the  great  hood  of  the  train-shed  in  Chicago  had  been 
fully  recalled  and  made  sure  in  its  relations  to  them  both, 
Parry  went  his  way  with  Stoner,  the  glad  grip  of  Enderby's 
hand  again  tingling  through  his  own,  and  Enderby's  cheering 
words  ringing  in  his  ears: 

"  We  '11  pull  you  back,  never  fear !  This  high  country 
likes  the  right  kind  of  a  fighter.  You  're  that !  Come  up 
to  Villa  Rica,  when  you  can.  The  boys  will  welcome  you 
like  a  brother.  Adios,  till  I  see  you." 

Used  as  he  was  to  the  far  goings  and  the  frequent  soli- 
tudes of  an  engineer's  life  in  the  field,  now,  in  his  weakness, 
the  boundless  emptiness  of  the  then  dormant  surrounding 
barrens,  the  profound  silence  of  the  mountains,  and  even  the 
impersonal,  all-pervading  blue  of  the  sky  made  him  feel,  at 
times,  very  much  alone  in  the  little  adobe  house  where  he 
was  finally  quartered,  and  in  the  first  days  of  his  exile  he 
could  almost  have  cried  out,  "  I  am  forgotten  as  a  dead 
man  out  of  mind." 

Superior  to  that,  however,  was  the  persistent,  unfailing 

[199] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

uplift  of  the  high  country,  the  cheer  of  unflagging  hope,  and, 
soon  the  fibres  of  returning  strength  were  stirring  at  his 
heart,  day  by  day.  Thus,  some  months  slipped  away  after 
his  coming  to  Balceta  and  the  little  town  had  come  to  love 
him  with  a  sort  of  civic  pride.  The  state  of  his  health  had 
become  a  recognized  matter  of  public  concern,  and  as  his 
strength  slowly  but  visibly  grew,  his  comings  and  goings 
upon  the  crude  highways  and  into  the  fastnesses  of  the 
rugged  watershed  which  lies  about  Balceta  were  events  of 
unfailing  local  interest. 

This,  because  no  yawning  earthen  vessel  in  the  darkened 
interior  of  a  hunger-smitten  adobe  long  remained  empty  of 
corn  or  frijoles,  once  the  pressing  need  was  made  known  to 
him  by  the  trustful,  aged  casa  madre;  and  because  not  only 
these  simple,  long-suffering  house-mothers  but  also  the 
strong  and  active  rank  and  file  of  Balceta  like  to  see  all  men 
strong,  and  they  rejoice  openly  in  the  winning  fight  of  a 
man  who  makes  his  last  stand  for  life  in  their  mountains. 

There  was  another  reason  for  Johnnie's  popularity,  dim- 
mer and  more  impersonal  than  these  others,  but  very  real  and 
near  to  the  heart  of  Balceta.  It  was  known  that,  in  pur- 
suance of  Stoner's  pet  idea,  long  postponed  of  execution, 
with  that  deferred  hope  which  sickens  the  heart,  big,  smiling, 
patient  Johnnie  had  at  last  been  assigned  to  survey  the 
watershed  that  lies  roundabout  the  town,  and  to  locate  a 
source  of  permanent  water  supply  which  should  relieve  the 
well-nigh  constant  summer  need  and  also  guard  against  the 
coming  of  an  evil  day  of  extreme  drought,  which  Stoner  had 
long  foreseen,  wherein.  Balceta  might  come  to  very  sore 
straits. 

Thus,  while  Johnnie  and  his  small  corps  of  assistants 
scouted  the  peaks  and  draws  for  days  at  a  stretch  in  the 

[200] 


JOHNNIE 

open,  and  Stoner  and  he,  between  whiles,  wrangled  in  the 
office,  in  blunt  good  nature,  over  the  field  notes  and  water 
prospects,  the  springtime  of  the  year  of  his  rejuvenation 
opened  and  the  maps  and  plattings  were  well  along.  With 
them  was  a  wealth  of  figures  which  proved  that  the  greatest 
flow  from  melting  snows  and  summer  rains  was  lost  to 
Balceta,  somewhere  between  the  heights  and  the  meagre 
summer  flow  of  the  river.  Therefore,  Johnnie  was-  fre- 
quently found  saying: 

"  Drill  for  it,  Stoner,  drill !  Here  is  the  place,"  he  would 
add,  at  the  end  of  many  of  their  conferences,  indicating  upon 
the  map  a  spot  just  above  the  edge  of  the  town.  "  The 
uplift  is  there.  The  whole  dip  of  rock  from  the  heights  is 
right.  The  water  is  there,  and  has  been  for  ages ! 

"  It  lies  deep,  but  full  and  free,  and  there  is  a  thousand- 
foot  head  to  lift  it,  if  there  is  an  ounce.  I  have  verified  it, 
with  all  but  the  water.  We  can  get  it.  Drill !  " 

And  while  Stoner  became  convinced  that  the  location  was 
right,  and  wrote  persistently  for  a  special  appropriation, 
which  somehow  did  not  come,  the  May  rains  fell,  the  new 
amber-green  of  the  high  country  was  over  all  the  valley  and 
upon  the  mesas,  and  the  little  river  ran  fat  with  waters  be- 
tween its  narrow  banks. 

Toward  the  end  of  May,  the  regular  afternoon  showers 
ceased  suddenly.  June  ran  its  course  without  rain,  ex- 
cept for  a  stray  gust  or  two,  the  great  sparkling  drops  of 
which  sank  deep  into  the  tall  parching  grasses,  or  struck 
the  dry  earth  in  widely  scattered  puffs  of  dust,  and  left  the 
river  shrinking  rapidly  between  its  browning  banks. 

July,  August,  and  September  ran  their  parched  and  blis- 
tering length  while  the  sharp  rays  of  the  brazen  sun  speared 
the  river  from  its  rocky,  blackened  bed  and  seared  a  darker 

[201] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

tinge  upon  the  thick-standing  dwarf  pines  which  crowded 
down  closely  upon  the  town  where  the  mountain  crouched 
at  its  back.  The  wide  ranges  which  stretch  away  beyond 
the  river  had,  long  since,  turned  from  green  to  gray  and 
from  gray  to  russet,  and  over  it  all  the  air  lay  still  as 
sleep,  while  Stoner,  straining  under  the  responsibility  of 
Balceta's  crying  need,  reiterated  his  request  to  headquarters 
for  drillers  and  apparatus,  or  for  money  and  permission  to 
do  the  work  of  well-sinking  with  his  own  meagre  force. 
But  in  those  years  improvement  went  slowly  and  men  and 
money  were  at  a  premium. 

So  Johnnie,  within  the  cool  of  adobe  walls  at  altitude,  with 
his  field  work  done,  rested  from  his  wandering  upon  the 
watershed  and  elaborated  his  profiles  and  sections,  while 
Stoner  fumed  and  hauled  water  to  Balceta,  as  best  he  might, 
from  the  far  Rio  Grande.  The  river-bed  was  dotted  with 
thirst-killed  cattle,  among  which  others  staggered,  thrusting 
their  swollen  and  bleeding  tongues  into  the  rare  moist  spots 
until  they  fell  dead  among  their  fellows ;  and  along  Stoner's 
water  trains  seasoned  veterans  of  road-building,  who  had 
seen  the  desert  at  its  worst,  were  pacing  on  guard,  rifle  in 
hand,  with  a  look  that  closely  resembled  terror  in  their 
weather-tanned  faces.  Balceta  was  living  almost  by  the  will 
of  Stoner  and  any  who  filled  a  pail  or  olla  at  the  tank-trains 
had  first  to  satisfy  the  guards  that  the  order  from  Stoner 
was  genuine. 

Stoner  bore  it  like  a  man  of  bronze,  until,  while  looking 
at  the  map  of  the  watershed  upon  which  Johnnie  was  de- 
lineating the  underground  water  supply  as  he  believed  it 
existed,  the  thing  became  a  reality  in  Stoner's  mind  and  he 
turned  abruptly  from  the  maps  with  an  upward  sweep  of  his 
hands  above  his  head,  as  though  to  brush  himself  clear  of 

[202] 


JOHNNIE 

the  entangling  rounds  of  routine  which  had  so  long  delayed 
the  project,  and  made  his  way  at  once  to  the  bridge-timber 
yard. 

That  night  and  the  following  day  things  of  large  import 
went  forward  at  a  feverish  pace  in  the  bridge  yard  and  the 
shops,  and  during  the  whole  of  the  next  night  the  flare  of 
torches  cut  the  darkness,  on  the  hillside  at  the  edge  of  the 
town,  upon  the  knoll  that  was  marked  with  a  star  upon  John- 
nie's field  plat. 

To  every  offer  of  help  from  Johnnie,  Stoner  replied 
savagely : 

"Keep  off!  Rest  up!  Don't  try  to  hitch  in,  just  now, 
and  lose  all  you  have  gained  in  strength.  Your  turn  may 
come  later,  in  a  pinch." 

The  following  morning's  light  revealed  a  tall,  primitive 
derrick  and  drill  standing  in  place,  and  when  the  first  puff 
of  steam  barked  from  the  portable  engine,  Stoner,  turning 
to  Johnnie,  who  had  appeared  with  the  sun,  said: 

"Drill!" 

Then  he  stretched  his  weary  length  under  a  scrub  pine 
upon  the  mountain-side  and  slept  as  one  dead,  until  the  sun 
was  high. 

Throughout  the  day,  the  heavy  drill  clanked  its  battering 
blows  upon  the  cap-rock  and  sank  slowly  into  the  flinty 
depths.  At  night,  Stoner  resumed  command  and  gave  it  up 
again  to  Johnnie  in  the  morning.  And  so  the  fierce  pound- 
ing, drilling,  sheathing  went  on  for  the  week ;  a  score  of  feet 
down  through  the  cap-rock,  twice  that  in  a  welcome  soft- 
fault,  and  then  the  drill  entered  the  long  drive  in  the  lime- 
rock,  and  thus  far  the  maps  were  justified  and  Johnnie  re- 
joiced in  secret,  while  Stoner  stood  his  recurring  guard  and 
only  once  asked: 

[203] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  How  much  deeper,  Johnnie?  To  the  limit  of  your  draw- 
ing, think?" 

"  Another  length.  Hold  fast,  and  drill ! "  was  all  that 
Johnnie  answered  as  he  gave  up  his  watch  at  the  derrick  and 
turned  downward  to  the  town. 

The  sun  of  the  Sunday  morning  which  followed  rose  red  and 
fiery  over  the  eastern  mesa  and  showed  the  lower  levels  in  a 
hazy  film  of  blue  which  was  foreign  to  the  clear,  rare  height 
of  Balceta.  The  perishing  cattle  sniffed  the  dry  air  with 
cracked  and  bleeding  nestrils  and  came  staggering  with 
terror-stricken  eyes  toward  the  town  and  the  tracks,  lolling 
their  tongues  and  lapping  in  agony  at  even  the  stray  waft 
of  vapor  from  a  passing  engine. 

Brief,  clear,  and  deadly  was  the  message  which  Stoner  laid 
in  the  hands  of  Johnnie  at  the  well  that  was  to  be,  and  he 
stared  at  him  with  red,  sleepless  eyes  as  he  read  it : 

"  Extra  Number  984  ditched  and  turned  over  at  Arroyo. 
Five  hours  to  clear  track.  The  grass  is  fired  and  a  tongue  is 
running  up  Mont  el  Rey  towards  Balceta." 

"  That 's  my  water  train,  Johnnie !  I  can't  send  up  water 
enough  to  run  this  drill  engine  past  noon ! " 

"  Send  what  you  can.  We  will  drill  until  noon ! "  re- 
plied Johnnie.  "  We  are  close  to  the  depth  and  we  may 
drive  it  to  the  finish  before  it  is  too  late." 

"  Three  miles  out,  and  burning  in  this  drought ! "  replied 
Stoner.  "  It 's  all  up  with  Balceta  if  the  fire  comes  into  the 
pines ! " 

The  haze  thickened  to  a  film  and  the  film  grew  to  a  stifling 
pall  of  pungent,  acrid  smoke  as  the  morning  advanced,  and 
all  of  thirst-parched  Balceta  which  was  not  out  to  fight 
the  advance  of  the  fire  gathered  in  stupefied  terror  among 
its  hurriedly  packed  belongings  along  the  tracks  and  waited 

[204] 


JOHNNIE 

the  return  of  the  wreck-train  to  deliver  it  from  the  worst, 
if  the  fire  should  hem  it  in.  And  Johnnie,  long  over-tried, 
with  a  return  of  the  pallor  which  had  sent  him  to  the  moun- 
tains, gave  his  orders  in  a  weakened  voice,  but  stayed  by 
the  derrick  and  drilled. 

Nine,  ten,  eleven  o'clock ;  the  incessant  pounding  of  the 
drill  went  on  and  the  smoke  upon  the  mountain-side  thick- 
ened until  the  sun  was  shut  out  and  Johnnie  and  his  men 
were  breathing  with  difficulty  through  wetted  cloths  dipped 
grudgingly  in  the  well-nigh  empty  water  casks  at  the  boiler. 
A  line  of  fire  crept  around  the  hip  of  the  mountain,  and  in 
its  steady  advance  upon  the  town,  was  glowing  red  through 
the  smoke,  below  the  rise  upon  which  stood  the  derrick  at  the 
well. 

"  We  will  have  to  give  it  up  and  go ! "  said  Stoner  as  he 
came  up  from  his  labors  at  back-firing  the  grass  beyond  the 
dry  river-bed  in  the  valley. 

"  Not  until  we  have  to  draw  the  fire  under  the  boiler,  Stoner  1 
We  are  close  to  the  end  now,  and  it  will  be  big  water  or 
nothing  within  this  hour;  that,  or  my  reckoning  is  wrong 
and  my  year's  work  as  worthless  as  a  dead  coyote !  " 

"  Clank !  clank !  clank ! "  the  drill  struck  its  accompani- 
ment, as  they  reasoned  the  chances;  and  then  came  the  end, 
quite  suddenly. 

Twice  as  they  stood  watching  it,  the  heavy  shaft  of  steel 
rose  to  the  draw  of  the  cable  and  delivered  its  dull-sounding 
blow  deep  in  the  rock.  A  third  time,  it  rose  and  fell ;  and 
rose  no  more.  With  a  grinding  crash,  it  broke  from  its 
moorings  in  the  derrick  and  went  hissing  and  grating  down 
into  the  depths  of  steel  casing  in  the  well,  and  the  derrick, 
shaken  free  of  its  hastily  constructed  supports,  slipped  clear 
of  the  rock  and  toppled,  crashing,  down  the  hillside. 

[205] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

From  the  depths  of  the  casing  came  a  gurgling,  muffled 
roar  and  then  a  crackling,  hissing  column  of  blue-white 
water  shot  upward  and  mounted  into  the  pall  of  smoke  until 
its  top  was  quickly  lost  to  sight.  Solid-looking  and  pure 
as  a  shaft  of  polished  steel,  it  sprung  from  the  ample  mouth 
of  the  casing  and  fell  drenching  back  in  a  blessed  deluge 
upon  the  scattered  drillers  on  the  hillside  and  rushed  away 
down  the  glare  of  rocks  to  hunt  its  way  through  the  neck  of 
smoking  pines  and  on  through  the  dry  arroyo  in  the  heart 
of  the  town,  down,  at  last,  to  the  gaping  river-channel. 

Then  fickle  Dame  Nature,  the  friend  of  him  who  wins,  for 
the  first  time  smiled  upon  the  heart-breaking  battle  and  sent 
a  waft  of  cool  north  wind  from  the  upper  heights.  It  rolled 
the  pall  of  smoke  from  off  Balceta,  for  a  moment,  and  the 
sun's  bright  rays  fell  upon  the  crest  of  water  tumbling  and 
waving  in  a  great  feathery  plume  of  white,  a  hundred  feet 
above  the  rock  from  which  it  spouted. 

To  those  below  in  the  town,  who  stood  listening  in  added 
terror  to  the  new  sound,  it  showed  only  for  a  moment  and 
then,  as  the  arc  of  mist  which  trailed  from  the  tumbling 
crest  of  water  flung  the  glories  of  a  miniature  rainbow  to 
the  breeze,  the  smoke-pall  closed  in  upon  it  and  hid  the  glad 
sight  from  their  view. 

It  was  enough,  however,  to  turn  them  mad  with  joy,  and 
mingled  with  the  hoarser  shouts  from  the  tracks  and  the  well, 
there  arose  the  soft  treble  of  the  native  folk  and  the  shrill- 
ing of  their  children,  sweet  and  reverent,  even  out  of  the 
depths  of  their  great  terror. 

"  En  el  nombre  de  Dios!  Los  aguas  pintado!  "  it  rang, 
softly  but  strong,  above  the  motley  din  of  shouting  men  and 
lowing,  water-mad  cattle.  And  then,  when  the  north  wind 

[206] 


JOHNNIE 

finally  prevailed,  and  the  curtain  of  smoke  rolled  off  the 
mountain-side  and  out  of  the  valley,  it  revealed  the  wasted 
brown  bodies  of  men,  women,  and  children  rolling  and  rev- 
elling in  the  clear,  cool  water  that  rushed  down  the  long 
arroyo  to  the  river. 

Soon  they  came  straggling,  shouting,  upward  to  the 
spouting  well,  where  Stoner  sat  wiping  the  dripping  mist 
from  Johnnie's  unconscious  face  and  trying  in  vain  to  chafe 
the  color  back  to  his  nerveless  hands.  Then  their  rejoicing 
quickly  sank  to  a  murmur  of  pity  and  awe,  while  they  stood 
with  bared  heads  until  he  was  borne,  limp  and  unheeding, 
down  to  the  town. 

In  the  harnessing  of  the  well,  the  drowning  out  of  the 
nearest  fire-lines,  and  the  further  battle  for  the  town's  sake 
that  day,  Stoner  had  little  part  and  Johnnie  none  whatever, 
but  the  work  was  done  victoriously.  Balceta  withstood  its 
great  trial  and  the  rains  that  rode  in  on  the  wind  from  the 
north  soon  made  the  good  work  complete. 

It  was  many  days  before  Johnnie  firmly  caught  back  his 
hold  on  life,  but,  after  that,  his  gain  was  so  rapid  that  Stoner 
declared  the  final  creosoting  of  the  tense  day  of  smoke  and 
tribulations  was  the  one  thing  needed  to  complete  Johnnie's 
recovery. 

"  Same  as  a  good  piece  of  bridge  timber,  now,  you  will 
be  fire  and  weather  proof !  "  he  would  sometimes  conclude, 
while  badgering  him  back  to  life,  in  the  weeks  that  followed. 

And  Johnnie,  with  the  color  mounting  to  his  face,  strong 
and  stronger  each  day,  would  laughingly  respond,  with  some- 
thing of  his  old  gayety: 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,  Stoner ! " 

There  was  a  time  though,  just  at  first,  when  the  grateful 

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MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

and  awed  native  Balcetans  so  little  expected  ever  again  to 
greet  him  in  the  flesh  that  they  set  reverently  about  his  en- 
rollment among  the  blessed  of  the  world  beyond. 

"  Come  up  to  the  well  with  me,"  said  Stoner,  in  one  of  the 
first  days  in  which  Johnnie  was  again  fit  to  go  abroad  in  the 
town. 

"  Looks  good,  don't  it  ?  "  he  said,  when  they  had  come  to 
the  base  of  the  granite  cliff  where  a  small  fountain  fell  spark- 
ling back  into  a  natural  bowl  of  the  red  rock  and  the  well 
sent  its  greater  wealth  of  water  through  a  swelling  main 
stretching  down  into  the  town. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this,  San  Juan?  "  he  supple- 
mented, gently  turning  Johnnie  about,  to  face  the  towering 
wall  of  rock. 

"  En  el  nombre  de  Dios  Todopoderoso  y  San  Juan  de  la 
Aguas  Pintado" 

Parry  read  in  astonishment,  from  the  clear  chiselling  of 
script  cut  into  the  face  of  the  rock  at  shoulder  height. 

And  below  it,  in  the  bold,  clean-cut  lettering  with  which 
Stoner's  mason  gang  was  accustomed  to  cut  in  its  bridge 
dates : 

"  In  the  name  of  Almighty  God:  and  Saint  John  of  the 
Painted  Waters." 

"  Oh  that  will  hardly  do,  Stoner ! "  exclaimed  Balceta's 
modest  eaint,  with  a  flush  of  confusion  mixed  with  a  pride 
that  was  just. 

"  It 's  got  to  do ! "  parried  Stoner.  "  They  thought  you 
were  billed  out,  for  certain;  that  you  were  gone,  in  fact, 
when  they  cut  it.  It  expresses  their  belief  in  God.  If  I 
changed  it,  they  'd  pull  me  apart.  And  I  thought  it  was 
fit  to  put  into  '  United  States,'  when  I  found  it  there  one 

[208] 


JOHNNIE 

morning,"  he  concluded,  with  a  quizzical  look  into  his  com- 
panion's face,  more  earnest  than  teasing. 

Johnnie  left  it,  at  that,  and  in  due  time  went  back,  for  a 
while,  to  his  own  upon  the  plains,  laughing  his  own  good 
laugh  in  season,  and  strong  in  his  rebuilded  strength.  The 
story  of  the  painted  waters  went  down  from  the  mountain 
before  him,  and  while  no  one  then  felt  impelled,  for  the  one- 
time reason,  to  call  him  "  Johnnie  "  in  his  big  strength  of 
body  and  purpose,  yet  later,  when  the  battle  had  again  been 
hard  and  the  river  waters  had  fought  fiercely  before  yield- 
ing, or  when  the  camp-fire  burned  low  in  still  nights  upon 
the  field,  there  were  those  who  liked  to  speak  of  him  as 
"  Saint  John,"  and,  occasionally,  "  Johnnie,"  but  always 
with  a  note  of  manful  regard. 

When  he  chanced  to  overhear,  he  smiled  a  victorious  sort 
of  smile  which  lighted  up  his  face,  quite  as  of  old ;  and,  un- 
disturbed, he  seemed  neither  depressed  nor  elated  by  the  mixed 
memories  which  those  names  must  have  stirred. 

The  mountains,  however,  once  they  have  set  the  seal  of 
their  approval  upon  a  man,  give  him  up  reluctantly.  They 
seem,  animately,  to  hate  to  extinction  one  who  hates  or  fears 
them,  but  of  John  Parry,  who  had  befriended  them  and 
whom  they  had  befriended,  they  were  destined,  presently,  to 
see  more. 


[209] 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  FLYER 

4  t T~l ASTER      than      Seventeen's      time?     Ten      cars? 
f?          There 's    nothing    on    wheels    can    do    it  I "    de- 
clared Dodson  with  fine  assurance  that  seemed  bristling  with 
anger. 

That  was  merely  seeming,  however.  He  was  only  very 
earnest,  not  angry.  His  eyes  were  fastened  fiercely  upon 
the  face  of  McPeltrie  who  having  had  his  say  about  the  ru- 
mored new  time-card,  sat  calmly  returning  the  gaze  of  Dod- 
son from  the  other  end  of  the  tank  bench  at  the  roundhouse. 

"  Not  through  El  Soledad  Canyon ;  and  not  over  these  two 
divisions,  complete.  You  know  it !  "  Dodson  added  with  even 
greater  emphasis  and  arose  with  a  jerk  from  his  place  upon 
the  bench. 

He  crushed  in  his  hand  the  old  and  well  thumbed  official 
time-table  from  which  he  had  supported  his  contention,  and 
with  it  proceeded  noisily  to  beat  imaginary  dust  from  his 
freshly  donned  overalls. 

Coming  from  Dodson,  who  seldom  refused  a  reasonable 
chance  to  go,  and  never  accepted  an  unnecessary  hazard, 
these  assertions  carried  weight  with  Villa  Rica  men.  There- 
fore, something  more  than  the  moment  of  silence  which  was 
likely  to  follow  the  earnest  expression  of  any  accredited 
man's  opinion  at  the  tank  passed  before  even  Enderby  felt 
called  upon  to  speak. 

[210] 


THE     BIRTH     OF      THE     FLYER 

"  Maybe  not  on  wheels,  just  yet,  but  like  as  not  she  's 
about  ready  for  them  now,"  said  Enderby. 

He  turned  his  kindly,  quizzical  eyes  upward  to  where  Dod- 
son's  face  loomed  big  against  the  rising  sun  above  the  rim 
of  the  crater. 

"  Dinwiddy  figures  that  she  will  soon  be  out  of  the  shops, 
back  East.  The  first  engine,  that  is,  and  there  's  to  be  more 
of  them  following  right  along,  to  help  her  protect  the  fast 
runs  when  the  new  card  is  out." 

At  the  sound  of  Enderby's  measured  voice,  Dodson's  eyes 
had  instantly  shifted  from  the  set  jaw  of  McPeltrie  to  the 
old  man's  smiling  eyes,  and  thus  shifting,  had  worked  a  won- 
drous change  in  Dodson's  look  of  earnest  defiance.  The 
blaze  died  out  of  his  eyes  and  softened  to  a  twinkling  glow, 
while  his  voice  took  on  a  quality  of  respectful  attention  not 
wholly  free  from  anxiety. 

"  Then  you  think  she  will  cut  it,  Pap?  "  he  questioned. 
"  It 's  some  big !  " 

"  Forty-two  miles  an  hour,  change  engines,  make  water- 
stops,  and  average  up  one  side  and  down  the  other,  is  some  big 
over  this  division,  with  that  load,"  conceded  Enderby  gravely. 
"  But  that 's  what  the  new  time-card  will  set  it  up  to,  they 
say,  and  the  new  engine  and  her  kind  will  hold  it  there. 

"  That  boy  in  there  put  his  soul  into  the  drawings,  long 
enough  before  they  ever  got  to  Balceta  for  approval,  or  to 
the  shops  back  East  to  wrangle  over  and  work  by. 

"  'T  ain't  saying  they  don't  know  engines,  back  East. 
They  do.  But  he  knows  the  kinks  and  high  spots  on  both 
of  these  divisions  like  he  knows  his  own  face  for  shaving, 
and  that 's  what  counts  at  the  finish. 

"  He  made  this  coming  type  of  engine,  you  may  as  well 
say,  and  still  he  's  to  me  just  the  same  plain-minded  little 

[211] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

fellow  that  we  picked  up  out  of  the  Apache  raid,  years  ago, 
in  the  Tonto  country. 

"  He  showed  me  some  of  the  drawings  one  day  —  got  so 
wrapped  up,  like,  that  he  figured  the  whole  strength  of  the 
engine  for  me,  right  there  on  the  table,  before  he  ever  re- 
membered that  I  maybe  could  n't  eat  all  the  crust  of  his  math- 
ematical pie.  But,  I  reckon  I  got  the  filling  of  it,  and  the 
point  is  that  she  will  pull  them. 

"  And  I  '11  tell  you  this,  boys.  If  that  train  's  to  be  only 
half  as  fine  as  they  tell  him  and  he  tells  me,  I  'd  rather  put  it 
through  on  time  over  this  division,  if  it  was  only  for  once, 
than  to  be  a  rear  admiral  in  the  navy !  Point  is,  he  says 
she  's  going  to  pull  them,  and  this  is  the  division  that  tells. 
The  boy  knows  and  he  says  she  will  do  it,"  he  reiterated 
proudly. 

"  Meaning  Dinwiddy  ? "  smiled  "  Rock-a-by  "  Johnson. 
Enderby  nodded  in  quick  assent. 

"  Well,  Dinwiddy  's  some  sizable  of  a  boy,  and  what  he 
says  most  generally  goes,  but,"  said  Johnson,  with  a  dubious 
shake  of  the  head,  "  I  'm  leaning  some  strong  towards  Dod- 
son's  views,  Pap.  It's  a  heap  big  job  to  put  ten  cars 
through  El  Soledad  faster  than  Seventeen's  time ! 

"  You  see,  you  can't  always  tell  about  these  sharps  that  do 
their  figuring  on  the  table  —  meaning  nothing  small  towards 
Dinwiddy,"  he  hastily  added,  as  a  brighter  glint  of  light 
leaped  into  the  eyes  of  Enderby.  "  He  's  an  all-right  master 
mechanic,  but  that  don't  wipe  out  the  fact  that  when  us  fellows 
are  figuring,  we  have  to  do  most  of  it  in  the  cab,  with  the 
throttle  open  and  other  people  coming  a-plenty. 

"  Now,  you  fellows  all  remember  that  743  engine  that  I 
was  running  on  '  One  '  and  *  Two,'  when  the  experts  came  out 

[212] 


THE     BIRTH     OF      THE      FLYER 

from  headquarters  and  put  the  thimble-rigging  on  her.  She 
would  n't  go  nowheres.  You  know  it ! 

"  Well,  they  got  a  lot  of  them  little  Christmas  cards  off  of 
her,  supposed  to  show  the  workings  of  her  internals,  and  the 
youngest  goslin'  in  the  bunch  swells  up  at  me  like  a  blowin' 
adder,  when  I  touch  him  on  the  back  and  confide  to  him  at 
Balceta  that  the  engine  ain't  worth  stall  room. 

"  '  Why,'  he  says,  '  Mr.  Johnson  — '  " 

"Wau-g-h!"  jeered  a  chorus  of  not  unfriendly  voices, 
trailing  off  into  the  clear  utterance  of  McPeltrie.  "  Play 
ball,  Johnson ! " 

"  Yes,  he  did !  "  protested  Johnson  savagely.  "  That 's 
exactly  what  he  says !  You  wait  till  I  get  through,  will 


you 


"  *  Why,  Mr.  Johnson,'  the  young  fellow  says,  *  those 
cards  are  ideal! ' 

"  Harper,  the  boss  of  the  bunch,  was  busy  somewheres  else 
and  did  n't  hear  it,  so  I  never  did  find  out  exactly  what  he 
thought. 

"  '  Meaning  she  's  an  all-right  engine  ?  '  I  says. 

"  '  Certainly,'  was  what  the  young  fellow  says  then,  and  I 
climbed  aboard,  quick,  and  moseyed  her  up  to  the  round- 
house to  keep  from  insulting  him.  Why,  we'd  just  come  in 
fifteen  minutes  late  with  '  One,'  then,  and  I  'd  been  punished 
a  sight  by  that  engine  hanging  back  on  the  schedule,  right 
along.  His  opinion  was  about  as  welcome  as  lizards. 

"  But  I  got  hunk,  all  right,  after  we  got  back.  I  met 
Harper  just  as  he  's  coming  out  of  the  eating-house,  right 
here  in  Villa  Rica,  and  I  says  to  him : 

"  '  Mr.  Harper,  I  understand  that  the  cards  you  are  get- 
ting off  of  that  743  are  called  ideal.  Now,  I  've  run  that 

[213] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

engine  a  sight  and  she  ain't  worth  three  whoops  up  the 
hollow,  neither  pulling  nor  drifting.  But  that 's  not  what 
I  wanted  to  ask  you. 

" '  What  I  wanted  to  ask  is  this :  If  the  cards  are  ideal, 
off  of  that  743,  that  ain't  worth  nothing  as  an  engine,  and  I 
can  take  the  747  and  make  her  run  rings  around  the  743,  and 
likewise,  make  the  747  climb  a  tree  and  do  it  easy ;  why  then, 
if  you  were  to  take  some  cards  off  of  the  747,  what  in  blazes 
would  they  be? ' 

"  That 's  what  I  asked  him,"  concluded  Johnson  with  deep 
satisfaction.  "  So  you  see,  you  can't  always  tell  about  these 
fellows  figuring  in  advance !  " 

"  But  what  did  Harper  say  ?  "  puffed  Muller  contentedly 
from  the  bench. 

"  Oh,  he  did  n't  say  much,"  answered  Johnson  airily.  "  He 
j  ust  said :  '  I  don't  know,  Johnson.  You  started  with  a 
wrong  hypothesis.' 

"  '  Well,'  I  says,  *  I  never  had  no  fault  found  with  my  way 
of  starting  nor  stopping,'  and  let  it  go  at  that,  seeing  that 
he  owned  up  he  did  n't  know." 

For  Johnson's  sake,  they  weighed  it  all,  solemnly,  before 
Dodson  handed  down  an  opinion  that  seemed  to  meet  the  com- 
mon need. 

"  That  743  was  a  sure-enough  camel,"  he  said,  "  but  I 
don't  see  that  you  've  proved  anything  against  Dinwiddy  or 
Pap  —  nor  the  new  engine  that 's  coming." 

"  I  expect  the  point  was  in  that  *  hypothesis '  of  Harper's, 
if  you  had  drawn  him  out  a  little  farther,  Johnson,"  chuckled 
Muller,  with  a  manner  that  savored  of  certainty. 

"  That 's  whatever !  "  laughed  Dodson.  "  He  did  n't  make 
much  useless  talk,  for  common,  as  long  as  he  was  around  me. 
And  he  knowed  just  about  where  to  let  go  of  ideals. 

[214] 


THE     BIRTH     OF     THE     FLYER 

"  But  that 's  not  saying  that  Pap's  seniority  don't  give 
him  first  whirl  at  the  new  Flyer!  You  say  what  you  want, 
Pap,  and  we  're  with  you  to  a  finish  for  that  first  run,  when 
she  shows  up  here.  There  won't  be  anything  hanging  be- 
yond the  switch  against  you  that  night,  you  can  bet.  You 
get  a  clear  board  and  a  clear  track,  as  far  as  we  can  make  it, 
and  anything  else  you  say.  Eh,  boys  ?  " 

"  You  know  it !  "  they  chorused  variously. 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,  boys,  and  much  obliged,"  the  old  man 
replied,  a  flush  of  pleasure  mounting  supreme  over  the  anx- 
ious look  that  had  latterly  grown  upon  his  face.  "  It 's 
about  the  same  as  Dinwiddy  said  when  we  talked  it  over,  some 
little  while  back,  and  I  told  him  all  I  needed  was  a  clear  track 
and  lend  me  McPeltrie  off  of  Dodson's  run,  for  the  first  try." 

"  Hoo-ray  for  you,  Pap ! "  whispered  Dodson  with  a  loud 
mock  effort  at  secrecy,  stooping  suddenly  until  his  face 
swung  close  to  that  of  Enderby.  "  And  if  he  happened  to 
fall  down,  for  once,  I  'd  fire  for  you  myself,  if  I  could  get  to 
you. 

"  You  '11  be  so  puffed  up  now  that  there  '11  be  no  living  on 
the  engine  with  you,"  he  concluded  as  he  reached  for  Mc- 
Peltrie, and  hauling  him  off  the  bench,  summarily  broke  up 
the  morning  gathering  by  marching  him  laughing  away  into 
the  smoky  mysteries  of  the  roundhouse. 

Other  days  saw  other  councils  at  the  tank  bench,  and  mean- 
while, the  first  sheets  of  the  new  time-card  were  being  care- 
fully pencilled,  debated  with  Bunnel,  the  despatcher,  and  pen- 
cilled anew.  Elsewhere,  the  making  of  the  Flyer  was  going 
swiftly  on. 

Long  since,  in  the  dim  arcades  of  the  Canadian  woods, 
where  the  wintry  sunshine  glistened  upon  fields  of  snow  and 
lightened  the  gloom  of  vast  aisles  of  the  forest;  where  the 

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MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

icy  waters  of  Huron  lay  still  along  their  frozen  shores,  secure 
from  the  grasp  of  the  wind  of  the  north,  the  silence  had  been 
broken. 

The  ringing  blows  of  the  axe  and  the  cries  of  the  woods- 
men, the  musical  clink  of  frosty  chains,  the  swish  of  the  keen 
biting  saw  and,  now  and  again,  the  boom  of  falling  trees,  had 
told  of  their  last  stand  against  the  white  man's  advance. 
Here,  a  towering  pine  and  there  a  spreading  maple ;  yonder, 
a  sylph-like  birch  and  again  a  sturdy  oak,  had  shivered, 
swayed,  and  crashed  down  among  its  fellows. 

Along  Superior's  northern  shore,  the  earth  had  bared 
its  riven  side  and  given  up  a  rib  of  steel  from  which  to  fash- 
ion a  mighty  helpmeet  —  a  locomotive  and  its  train.  And, 
that  she  might  be  swift  and  sure  and  seemly,  men  had  delved 
deep,  hither  and  yon  in  the  earth,  like  giant  moles  far  be- 
neath the  cap-rock,  in  the  heart  of  tawny  copper,  white  silver, 
tin,  and  even  yellow  gold. 

The  blue  waters  of  Campeche's  gulf  had  rippled  and 
swelled  and  idly  smiled  upon  their  tropic  shores,  and  then 
borne  away  upon  their  swelling  tides  to  far  Mobile,  spicy 
columns  of  mahogany  and  cedar  and  given  them  up  at  the 
call  of  the  hurrying  northland. 

California's  majestic  slopes  had  given  of  their  fir  and  red- 
wood. New  Zealand  had  sent  its  teakwood  and  amber-clear 
resins,  China  and  Japan  their  sheening  silks,  the  Missis- 
sippi delta  its  bolls  of  snowy  cotton,  Georgia  its  golden  pine, 
and  from  the  green  spots  of  desert  and  mountains  had  come 
bales  of  richest  wools. 

By  the  patient  tread  of  men  and  beasts,  by  swelling  tides, 
by  rail  and  stream,  these  things  had,  long  since,  merged 
toward  a  centre  where  the  making  of  the  Flyer  was  at  hand. 

[216] 


THE     BIRTH     OF     THE     FLYER 

Along  the  Allegheny's  turbid  flood,  bursting  stars  of  steel 
in  the  making  had  shot  upward  through  the  darkness  of  a 
hundred  nights  while  ores  were  fused  and  cast.  A  host  of 
sinewy  hands  and  nimble  feet,  of  clear  brains  and  stanch 
hearts,  had  guided,  evaded,  rolled,  beaten  out  the  nobler 
forms  of  tube  and  bar  and  plate  of  steel. 

There  too,  by  the  rushing  river,  great  heaps  of  whitened 
sand  had  run  red  with  heat,  then  white  again  and  clear  as 
crystal  into  wells  and  plates  of  perfect  glass. 

Beyond  the  Blue  Ridge  and  the  Alleghenies,  near  the  low 
shores  of  Lake  Michigan,  the  cotton  and  the  wools,  the  steel 
and  wood,  the  red-bronze  and  glass  and  copal-resins  and  silks 
were  growing  under  deft  hands  and  watchful  eyes,  into  com- 
pact palaces  wherein  men  might  laugh  in  their  strength  or 
safely  languish  in  their  weakness,  and,  thus  laughing  or  re- 
pining, speed  swiftly  upon  their  various  ways,  setting  the 
old-time  distance  at  easy  naught. 

One  by  one,  there  grew  upon  the  tracks  of  that  teeming 
place  the  units  of  a  train  of  royal  blue.  Redolent  of  the 
bitter  good  tang  of  oak  they  grew,  sweet  with  the  spice  of 
mahogany  and  redwood  and  pine,  sibilant  with  the  whisper 
of  silks,  and  stanch  as  the  giant  tree-boles  and  rocks  from 
which  they  sprang.  And,  when  they  had  all  crept  forth 
under  a  smiling  sky  and  the  perfect  line  was  done,  they  gave 
back  to  the  sun,  ray  for  ray,  from  their  shining  coats  of  gold 
and  bronze  and  lacquer  and  glass,  like  beads  of  darkened 
amethyst  upon  a  thread  of  silver. 

And  near  to  where  the  Schuylkill  stains  the  Delaware  a 
deeper  hue,  the  pungent  steams  of  burning  core-sands  were 
rising  under  the  hands  of  men  who  wrought  everyday  wonders 
in  the  Old  Red  City.  Beneath  those  acrid  vapors,  dull  red 

[217] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

castings  turned  from  their  moulds  and  glowed  in  shadowy 
half-lights. 

Beyond,  great  hammers  bit  the  white  hot  billets  and  the 
ceaseless  rataplan  of  lighter  blows  from  steady  hands  rang 
true,  day  by  day.  There,  again,  a  host  of  brawny,  brainy 
men  gave  each  of  his  best  that,  in  the  end,  it  might  be  as 
though  the  old-time  distance  were  no  more. 

Then,  one  day,  after  a  great  shell  of  steel  had  loomed  big 
in  the  shadows,  for  a  time;  after  it  had  felt  the  settling  of 
a  little  thread  of  linen  across  its  girth  and  the  drawing  of 
another  and  another  gossamer  thread  along  its  sides;  when 
the  silvery  bubbles  of  the  levels  had  said  "  true  "  and  those 
threads  had  grown  into  great  bands  of  the  harness  of  steel 
and  were  shackled  to  the  giant  shell  with  bolts  more  unyield- 
ing than  the  rocks  that  gave  them;  after  eager-eyed  young 
men  had  seen  Dinwiddy's  pencilled  lines  and  their  own,  as 
well,  transmuted  into  adamant,  and  older  men,  with  silvered 
hair,  had  watched  their  petted  patterns  of  wood  grow  almost 
everlasting  under  the  hands  of  sturdy  young  men  in  whose 
veins  the  blood  still  ran  hot  and  red:  When  all  of  these 
marvellous  things  had  duly  come  about,  there  crept  forth 
from  its  shelter,  upon  this  first  new  day,  a  hesitating  but 
superb  locomotive,  and  Yates,  superintendent  of  motive 
power,  was  there  to  see  and  call  it  good.  She  looked  upon 
the  river  with  low-voiced  questioning,  for  a  time;  played 
with  whispered  greetings  or  sounding  shouts  along  its  banks 
for  a  little  while,  and  then  withdrew  into  her  shelter  again, 
unshackled  and  asleep. 

Far  out  in  Villa  Rica,  Stoner,  of  the  maintenance  of  way, 
was  working  feverishly.  From  Balceta  to  Villa  Rica  and  on 
to  Alta  Vista,  he  had  long  been  flitting  regardless  of  the 
rising  or  the  setting  of  the  sun,  building  or  strengthening 

[218] 


THE     BIRTH     OF      THE     FLYER 

bridges,  straightening  curves,  cutting,  filling,  and  laying 
metals  of  unheard-of  weight,  against  the  time  when  Din- 
widdy  met  him  in  Villa  Rica  yard  one  morning,  and  simply 
said: 

"  Stoner,  the  first  one  is  coming  across  the  desert,  east  of 
Alta  Vista,  pulling  freight  to  break  her  in." 

"  I  am  ready ! "  replied  Stoner,  and  together,  their  faces 
softened  into  the  look  of  men  who  rarely  find  time  to  smile. 
Then  they  went  soberly  upon  their  busy,  different  ways. 

She  was  coming !  Upon  one  other  day  of  waking  days  she 
had  found  herself,  under  the  wide  sky  of  the  prairies,  along 
strange  waters.  Then  she  had  droned  and  crooned  her  way 
across  the  quiet  prairies  onto  the  wide  and  lonely  plains,  be- 
yond the  Mississippi,  beyond  the  Missouri,  and  again  she  had 
come  roaring  and  battling  through  swirling  spirals  of  sand 
that  leaped  out  of  the  blackness  of  the  night  and  dragged  at 
her  with  clutching  hands,  until  at  last  the  swelling  dunes  un- 
folded under  the  coming  of  the  sun  and  showed  the  moun- 
tains frowning  down  upon  the  treachery  of  the  desert. 

Then  she  had  crept  into  the  depths  of  Big  Canyon,  where 
the  snow-capped  mountains  sent  down  clear  torrents  to  the 
awakening  plains  and  the  profound  silence  swallowed  up  her 
mutterings. 

Once  more  she  went  forward,  toiling  into  the  heights  with 
many  a  roar  of  awakening  strength,  many  a  deep-voiced 
challenge  to  the  mountain  hosts  that  barred  the  way,  and 
when  night  again  had  fallen  she  stood,  free  and  alone,  where 
the  scrub  pines  crowd  down  toward  the  tracks  in  the  bottom 
rim  of  Villa  Rica  crater,  and  the  stars  ofttimes  twinkle  in 
friendly  ways  above  them. 

But  now,  there  was  an  ominous  stirring  of  the  winds  that 
had  followed  her  from  the  desert,  up  through  the  far  canyon 

[219] 


MARK      ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

and  across  the  great  plateau  to  the  crater's  rim.  Yet  she 
stood  crooning,  as  it  were  to  herself,  of  the  labors  newly 
passed  and  whispering  of  a  victory  won  in  a  world  that  was 
strange.  Murmuring  to  the  pines  and  twinkling  back  subtly 
the  brilliant  signals  of  the  stars,  she  lay  brooding,  waiting, 
while  the  winds  crept  higher  above  the  crags  and  dipped 
deeper  into  the  crater  and  bore  an  ominous  muttering  from 
the  mountains. 

There,  the  men  of  Villa  Rica  gathered  about  and  groomed 
her,  Dinwiddy,  Enderby,  McPeltrie,  with  no  lack  of  other 
willing  hands  to  set  her  trim  and  ready. 

Stoner  came,  thinking  of  his  track  and  bridges  with  a  chal- 
lenge in  his  eyes,  and  looked  upon  her  sternly  until  the  beauty 
of  her  grew  upon  and  won  him.  Then  he  smiled  as  upon  a 
favorite  son  who,  perforce,  had  suddenly  appeared  a  man. 
Reaching  strongly  for  Dinwiddy's  hand  he  said: 

"  Man,  you  have  done  it !     I  congratulate  you." 

"  Hope  we  have,  but  not  yet  proven,"  replied  Dinwiddy 
with  a  ring  of  determination,  held  in  strong  reserve. 

"  She  will  win,"  declared  Stoner,  and  went  his  way  into 
the  night. 

Out  of  the  big  city  by  the  lake,  across  the  unresisting 
prairies,  mounting  higher  and  higher  upon  the  plains,  the 
finished  line  of  royal  blue  with  its  priceless  lading  of  life  and 
light  and  rich  caparison  had  been  speeding  swiftly  through 
the  long  day  and  far  into  the  lowering  night. 

Now,  Johnson  and  Muller,  with  the  boasted  engine  747 
and  another  of  her  kind,  were  lifting  the  brilliant  line  of 
living  blue  hard  up  over  the  last  great  swell  of  the  foothills, 
and  presently  the  deep  call  of  their  coming  was  blown  down 
gustily  through  the  east  notch  of  the  crater  to  the  anxious 
group  below.  The  white  shaft  of  light  from  Johnson's 

[220] 


THE     BIRTH      OF      THE      FLYER 

hard-worked  engine  shot  fiercely  across  the  high  darkness 
and  then  fell  wavering  swiftly  into  the  depths.  The  trail- 
ing constellation  in  its  wake  grew  into  a  definite  galaxy  of 
electric  stars  that  swept  downward  and  fixed  itself  brilliantly 
in  the  crater's  bottom. 

-"  You  '11  never  do  it  with  one  engine,  Enderby ! "  yelled 
Johnson  savagely  from  the  first  engine  cab,  as  he  glanced  at 
his  watch  while  going  by. 

But  Muller,  as  the  beaten  pair  cut  loose  and  drew  slowly 
away,  called  gamely  from  the  second  cab : 

"  You  hit  them,  Pap,  and  never  mind  us !  " 

Dinwiddy,  standing  silently  in  the  swirling  darkness  be- 
yond the  new  engine,  wavered  for  a  single  moment  and  half 
turned  toward  Bunnel,  the  despatcher,  who  stood  watching 
within  easy  call  upon  the  platform.  It  would  be  surer, 
though  bitter,  to  take,  even  now,  the  offer  of  a  second  engine 
which  he  had  refused  stoutly.  "  In  case  of  doubt  — " 

He  stiffened  and  stepped  quickly  to  the  gangway  of  the 
new  engine.  His  voice  rang  out  above  the  rasping  of  the 
winds : 

"Enderby!     McPeltrie!" 

The  cleft  in  his  upturned  chin  gleamed  livid  and  grim  in 
the  flaring  light  of  a  torch  in  the  gangway  as  the  men  stooped 
to  his  call. 

"  Twelve  minutes  to  the  bad ! "  he  said  bitterly.  "  Get 
it  back  for  Villa  Rica !  Get  it  back  for  me !  It 's  in  this 
engine.  She  's  mine,  get  it !  "  he  finished  desperately. 

McPeltrie  nodded  swiftly  and  turned  for  a  last  searching 
look  into  the  glare  of  the  purring  fire-box. 

"  Go  stay  by  the  end  of  the  wire,  son,  and  listen  to  what 
Bunnel  tells  you !  Stand  away  now,  the  switch  is  over ! " 
replied  Enderby,  stooping  low  above  the  stalwart  figure  in  the 

[221  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

rim  of  light.  Then  he  stood  up  strongly,  seeing  not  only  a 
superior  standing  there  below  him  —  but  Dinwiddy,  the  man 
whom  he  honored  and  loved.  With  the  swiftness  of  youth 
retained  in  the  heart,  he  settled  to  his  task  at  the  levers 
and  gently  touched  the  waiting  engine. 

Darkly  and  swiftly,  the  storm  banks  had  crept  above  the 
peaks  and  blotted  out  the  stars.  Stealthily,  they  had  crept 
down  among  the  restless  pines  toward  her.  Blue-white  glares 
of  the  lightnings  began  leaping  and  darting  among  the  peaks 
and  sheening  their  vivid  gleams  upon  her  faultless  coat  while 
crash  answered  crash  from  the  crags  above  and  boomed  and 
bellowed  down  among  the  pines  closer  at  hand. 

Still  crooning  and  whispering,  chuckling  softly  and  un- 
afraid, she  moved  back  quickly  a  little  space  under  the  hand 
of  Enderby,  to  meet  the  dust-wan  but  brilliantly  lighted  line 
of  life  and  royal  blue  that  had  fled  up  from  the  desert  into 
the  clutch  of  the  coming  storm. 

She  touched  it  gently  for  a  moment,  sighed,  stammered, 
then  suddenly  roared  and  raged  back  the  rising  voice  of  the 
furies.  Quickly  steadying,  she  drew  away  strongly  with  the 
gleaming  train  toward  the  upper  heights.  Then,  sweepingly, 
the  gates  of  destruction  seemed  thrown  wide  and  it  was  as 
though  the  pent-up  furies  of  the  ages  burst  forth,  unshackled. 

Furious  waters  were  loosened  from  above  and  fell  blind- 
ingly  upon  her  while  the  gray  pall  of  the  desert's  dust  slipped 
like  a  discarded  mantle  from  the  priceless  train  in  her  wake 
and  set  it  forth  brilliantly  anew  against  the  lurid  flashings  of 
the  night. 

Strongly,  steadily,  with  ever-increasing  sureness  and  hope, 
the  hearts  of  the  men  as  one  with  the  heart  of  her,  she  went 
out  against  the  warring  hosts  of  the  mountains,  herself  for 
a  time  invincible. 


Rejoicing  in  her  strength,  booming  forth  her  deep-voiced 
defiance  to  the  winds 


THE     BIRTH      OF      THE      FLYER 

Rejoicing  in  her  strength,  laughing,  whispering,  booming 
forth  her  deep-voiced  defiance  to  the  winds,  she  won  the  rim 
of  the  crater  and  plunged  guardedly  but  swiftly  down  to 
breast,  again,  the  further  heights. 

One  by  one,  she  took  the  strongholds  from  the  grasp  of 
the  storm.  The  Chimney  Cut,  Sacromonte,  the  Smoking 
Hill,  followed  quickly  in  their  fall  before  her  heavy  on- 
slaught, while,  flashing  back  the  lightning,  glare  for  glare, 
she  fought  onward  to  the  greater  heights,  sped  downward  to 
the  mouth  of  threatening  El  Soledad,  and  plunged,  straight 
and  unchecked,  toward  her  final  battle  against  its  writhing 
heights. 

The  redoubled  winds  came  screaming  down  out  of  the 
ragged  gorge  into  the  face  of  her,  and  for  long  minutes  of 
heavy  laboring  the  deluge  of  waters  and  winds  fell  upon  her 
before,  at  last,  she  weakened  and  lagged. 

In  the  dim  interior  of  the  quaking  engine  cab,  the  glint- 
ing water-line  in  the  glass  was  rising,  ebbing,  rising  but 
always  ebbing  a  little  lower  above  McPeltrie's  anxious  eyes. 
The  vital  shadow  upon  the  gauge  face  was  creeping  down- 
ward. The  pace  was  slackening  though  the  lever  dropped 
lower,  until,  at  a  mutual  nod  that  broke  his  haggard  stare 
from  the  steady  eyes  of  Enderby,  McPeltrie  shut  the  water  off. 

Soon,  the  shadow  upon  the  gauge  face  ceased  its  ominous 
downward  creeping  and  stood  stubbornly  far  below  its  ordered 
place.  Then  grudgingly,  it  began  its  slow  movement  up- 
ward. But,  in  the  glass,  the  dancing  glint  of  light  crept 
rapidly  lower,  disappeared,  surged  restlessly  upward,  disap- 
peared, and  rose  no  more.  The  water  was  gone  from  sight. 
Stop,  and  lose  irretrievably?  Go  on,  risking  death,  swift 
and  sure,  from  a  scorched  and  exploded  boiler?  Fight  on- 
ward and  win?  Which  should  it  be?  These  were  the  deadly 

[223] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

insistent  questions  that  throbbed  in  the  brains  of  Enderby 
and  McPeltrie,  while  the  straining  moments  passed. 

Battle  as  they  would,  the  precious  minutes  were  again  slip- 
ping by  seconds,  from  right  to  wrong  side  of  the  exacting 
schedule,  dripping  away  intangibly,  as  blood  drips,  unstayed, 
from  a  strong  man's  hidden  wound,  and,  as  blood,  these  strong 
men  in  their  working  agony  of  suspense  grudged  them,  drop 
by  drop,  and  second  by  second. 

Between  his  fierce  fightings  with  the  fire,  McPeltrie's  eyes 
eagerly  sought  the  eyes  of  Enderby,  but  the  old  man  gave 
no  sign  except  to  draw  from  the  boiler  a  saving,  fluttering 
breath,  at  the  lowest  test-gauge,  while  out  in  the  ruck  of 
the  storm,  in  the  crashing  conflagration  of  the  skies,  the 
furies  went  mad  in  the  joy  of  their  apparent  victory. 

Bending  doggedly  to  his  task  as  the  engine  beat  her  way 
sullenly  into  the  heart  of  the  fray,  McPeltrie  straightened 
suddenly  in  the  white  glare  from  the  open  furnace  door  and 
voiced  a  savage  cry. 

"  All  right,  Pap !  "  he  shouted.  "  I  've  found  it !  She  's 
been  lifting  it  out  at  the  front ! " 

He  thrust  and  cast  a  covering  of  coal  upon  the  deadly  gray 
spots,  then  deftly  opened  the  feed  again  and  sprang  to 
the  box,  beside  Enderby.  With  his  blackened  lips  close  to  the 
old  man's  ear  and  his  blazing  eyes  dipping  deep  into  the 
anxious  but  smiling  eyes  of  Enderby,  he  shouted  again: 

"  Had  a  hole  somewhere !  Knew  it  but  could  n't  find  it ! 
I  know  her  now,  Pap !  Hit  her  hard!  " 

The  glinting  water-line  soon  began  creeping  up  in  the 
glass  and  Enderby  smiled  and  fluttered  the  test-gauge  no 
more.  The  shadow  upon  the  gauge  face  crept  up  and  up 
until  suddenly  the  great  boiler  gave  voice  above  the  steadily 

[224] 


THE     BIRTH     OF      THE      FLYER 

increasing  roar  from  the  stack,  and  the  savage  hissing  of  the 
column  of  escaping  steam,  shooting  upward  from  the  dome 
into  the  swirling  sheets  of  rain,  rose  triumphant  over  the 
multiplied  voices  of  the  storm. 

With  strength  renewed,  she  beat  her  way  to  the  crest  of 
the  canyon,  then  sped,  leaning,  around  the  lips  of  the  swift 
descent,  careening  majestically  down  the  wider  sweeps  while 
the  rough  fingers  of  the  gale  clutched  and  tore  futilely  at  her 
rocking  bulk,  racing  madly  across  the  lower  dips  and  levels, 
tossing  back  the  fringes  of  the  waning  storm  and  rushing 
out  with  a  burst  of  resistless  speed  at  the  last,  into  the  lessen- 
ing night  winds,  the  tender  new-waving  grasses,  and  the  clear 
light  of  the  stars  in  the  quieting  dome  of  the  sky. 

Finally,  she  halted,  whispering  and  crooning,  amid  the 
watch-lights  of  sleeping  Balceta,  and  stood,  for  a  little  space, 
panting  gently  in  the  half -hush  of  distant  thunder  tones,  at 
peace  and  at  one  with  the  line  of  royal  blue. 

The  Flyer  was  born.  Washed  of  the  skies,  baptized  of 
elemental  fire,  she  was  godfathered  by  these  dauntless  men, 
and  by  such  as  they,  who  could  not  look  upon  her  as  a  thing 
quite  inanimate. 

"  Mack,"  said  Enderby  softly,  as  he  peered  proudly  about 
her  aloft  and  below,  touching  gently  here  and  there,  "  she  's 
nigh  about  human.  Never  was  such  an  engine,  eh?  The 
boy  has  sure  done  it ! " 

"  Y-e-s,"  drawled  McPeltrie.  "  But  how  about  you, 
Pap?  " 

"Oh,  yes, —  yes,  of  course,"  said  Enderby  joyously. 
"  And  you,  I  'd  reckon  in,  some  heavy." 

McPeltrie  laughed  happily  and  drew  his  sleeve  once  more 
across  his  steaming  face. 

'5  [  225  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

"  Just  Number  Seven,  on  the  new  card,  Pap.  On  time !  " 
he  said. 

There,  in  the  quiet  of  the  night,  they  gave  her  over,  in- 
tact, to  other  hands  as  sure,  for  her  further  journey  down 
to  the  coast.  A  little  later,  others  of  the  Flyer's  kind,  pow- 
erful, swift,  beautiful,  and  complete  as  she,  came  regularly, 
glinting,  fighting,  speeding  through  the  rugged  fastnesses 
roundabout  Villa  Rica  and  beyond. 

Severally,  in  turn,  the  senior  members  of  the  water-tank 
caucus  have  battled  and  sped  them  safely  to  their  journey's 
close,  or  launched  them  afresh  from  the  upper  division's 
end.  Yet,  somehow,  no  subsequent  trip,  however  well-ordered 
or  bravely  won,  has  ever  quite  attained  the  degree  of  emi- 
nence, in  Villa  Rica  annals,  that  attaches  to  the  tank-bench 
record  of  that  first  memorable  run,  in  which  Enderby  pre- 
sided at  the  birth  of  the  Flyer. 


[226] 


CHAPTER  XV 
PARRY,  AS  A  MAKER  OF  WAYS 

>"  said  Barstow,  the  axeman,  pursuing  a  fragmen- 
tary  conversation,  "  you  can't  tell  actual  doin's 
that 's  into  a  man's  past  life  by  seein'  him  set  up  to  his  meals, 
all  comfortable  an'  relaxed. 

"  It 's  likely  that  if  all  men  that 's  earned  hangin'  an* 
jailin',  as  law  goes,  was  to  be  hung  and  jailed  proper,  there 
would  n't  be  enough  able-bodied  citizens  runnin'  loose  to  keep 
the  jail  wood-box  full  an'  defeat  weeds  from  runnin'  riot 
over  the  sem'nary  lots  —  lessen  it 's  women  that  tends  to  them 
duties." 

They  were  sitting,  Barstow  and  young  Nate  Clymer,  just 
within  the  open  door  of  what  had  become  known  as  Barstow's 
shack,  not  far  from  the  small  field-office  of  John  Parry,  in 
Harmony  Canyon.  A  year  or  more  had  passed  busily  since 
the  days  of  agony  and  suspense  which  had  ended  with  Parry's 
rescue  of  Balceta  from  fire  and  drought,  and  when  it  had 
been  decided  to  extend  track  up  Harmony  Canyon  from  Villa 
Rica,  to  reopen  the  old  coal  mines,  Stoner,  upon  whom  the 
chief  task  had  fallen,  sent  back  a  call  of  the  mountains  for 
Parry. 

Parry  had  come,  definitely  to  cast  his  lot  with  the  high 
country,  and  with  his  family  was  now  established  in  Villa 
Rica,  six  miles  down,  where  the  canyon  opens  into  the  ancient 
crater,  which  is  now  the  wide  circular  valley  of  Villa  Rica. 
With  him  had  come  Clymer,  who,  as  boy  and  young  man, 

[227] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

had  followed  Parry's  engineering  fortunes  variously  and 
loyally  in  Chicago  and  upon  the  plains,  until  now  he  had 
risen  to  the  dignity  of  handling  a  level  or  transit  quite  ably, 
although,  even  yet,  he  was  not  at  all  grown  past  handling 
rod  or  chain  as  well. 

Barstow,  whom  Parry  had  found  as  his  one  important 
legacy  from  the  prior  workers  of  the  mine,  had  contentedly 
remained  guardian  of  axe,  stakes,  and  chain.  A  sort  of  hail- 
fellowship  was  growing  up  between  Barstow  and  Clymer, 
based  largely,  no  doubt,  upon  their  common  experience  in 
the  open  air  and  quite  regardless  of  the  disparity  in  their 
ages  and  points  of  view.  The  deep  of  the  canyon  mellowed 
commonplace  sounds  from  the  shaft-head  and  of  other  outside 
mine  work,  and  gave  a  comfortable  sense  of  stability  and 
industrial  accomplishment  to  their  surroundings  as  they  came 
up  each  morning  from  Villa  Rica,  or,  perchance,  remained 
at  Harmony  camp  and  pursued  the  daily  programme  under 
Parry's  direction.  They  were  all  coming  to  feel  quite  at 
home  with  their  work  and  with  each  other. 

So,  partly  because  he  was  absorbed  in  an  elated  sense  of 
his  own  growing  importance,  and  partly  because  he  liked  to 
note  Barstow's  rare  departures  into  a  limitless  sort  of  inborn 
philosophy,  Clymer  said  nothing,  upon  this  occasion,  in  re- 
ply to  Barstow's  deliberate  announcement,  but  continued 
petting  and  gently  burnishing  with  a  bit  of  chamois  the  tele- 
scope and  lenses  of  the  dismounted  transit  which  lay  across 
his  knees. 

The  sun  smiled  broadly  in  through  the  doorway  and 
glinted  approvingly  upon  the  slender  steel  of  a  one-hundred- 
foot  tape,  every  successive  tenth  of  which  Barstow  was  oil- 
ing and  inspecting,  as  he  passed  it  slowly  through  his  knotted 
fingers.  Half  a  dozen  criss-crossed  loops  were  added  to  the 

[228] 


PARRY,     AS     A     MAKER     OF     WAYS 

growing  mound  of  loops  in  the  little  corral  formed  by  his 
cross-legged  position  upon  the  floor  of  the  shack,  before  he 
spoke  again. 

"  When  you  find  a  man  that  wa'n't  born  in  these  parts 
comin'  as  far  out  as  this  from  them  big  camps  like  New 
York,  where  folks  ain't  none  too  polite  to  crowd  a  cripple 
off  en  the  board-walk,  but  thinks  they  're  too  durn  polite  to 
eat  pie  with  a  knife  when  they  're  hungry  and  needin'  it, 
you  can  jest  make  up  your  mind  onto  one  thing:  He's 
either  got  sand ;  real,  clean-grit  sand  into  him,  and  the 
makin's  of  a  mighty  desirable  citizen  of  the  republic; 
or  else  he  's  jest  slid  out  from  some  o'  them  big  bresh-heaps, 
like  a  scared  weasel  when  the  beagles  gits  close  up  onto  him, 
an'  ain't  worth  much  more  than  his  hide  an'  bounty. 

"  Nature  has  writ  a  good  many  things  plain  onto  her 
own  face,  an'  o'  course  that  means  people's  faces,  likewise. 
All  you  got  to  do  is  learn  to  read  picter  writin',  same 
as  Injuns  an'  Mex'cans,  an'  some  of  us  fellows  that 's  always 
had  to  know  it,  an'  you  '11  read  a  man's  face  close  enough 
to  trail  by.  Course  there  's,  now  an'  then,  one  that 's  slick 
enough  to  smudge  things  over  s'ficient  to  dim  the  trail  for 
a  spell,  but  circlin'  around  some,  you  're  sure  to  pick  it  up, 
if  you  know  the  signs. 

"  Now,  you  take  a  man  like  Mr.  Parry,  with  a  face  open 
an'  honest  as  a  white-faced  Hereford.  Don't  take  no  guessin' 
to  settle  that  he  's  clean-strain  all  through  an'  dependable, 
beef  or  yoke.  There 's  a  man  the  hand  o'  the  law  never 
tetched  ner  chased,  you  'd  allow,  an'  never  will,  most  likely. 
He  's  that  — " 

A  convulsive  chuckle  won  the  mastery  over  Clymer's  efforts 
at  restraint  and  broke  out  into  a  ringing  burst  of  glee  that 
freed  the  metal  cap  of  the  transit  telescope  from  his  shaking 

[229] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

hands  and  sent  it  rolling  in  unsteady  curves  to  the  feet  of 
Barstow. 

"  Boy,"  said  Barstow  looking  up  in  grave  displeasure, 
as  he  caught  the  rolling  cap  and  tossed  it  back,  "  it  may 
be  my  p'int  o'  view  is  sort  o'  shet  out  by  a  limb  in  the  way, 
but  I  don't  see  a  mite  that  9s  funny  in  them  remarks ! " 

"  No ! "  said  Clymer,  instantly  serious.  "  I  was  n't  fair, 
Barstow.  But,  would  you  suppose  that  Mr.  Parry  ever  was 
arrested  in  Chicago  ?  " 

"  None  whatever,"  replied  Barstow,  promptly  shifting  his 
loyalty  to  a  new  base,  "  an'  I  would  n't  feel  called  upon  to 
hold  it  against  him  serious  if  that  town  did  make  sech  a  fool 
play.  It  'd  only  show  what  I  says  a  while  back ;  that  them 
big  towns  is  some  reediclous !  " 

"  Well,  he  was ! "  smiled  Clymer,  with  dancing  eyes. 
"  And  they  got  me,  too ! " 

"At  one  and  the  same  time?"  asked  Barstow,  cautiously. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Clymer,  with  no  trace  of  mortification. 
"  Both  at  one  whirl  of  the  loop ! " 

Barstow's  face  settled  into  his  grizzled  beard  until  it  was 
half  buried  there  and  his  heavy  fingers  passed  gently  over 
several  tenths  of  the  tape  before  he  again  looked  up.  Then, 
he  spat  deliberately  at  the  crest  of  a  horned  toad  that  was 
reconnoitring  the  rough  slab  step  outside  the  door,  and  saw 
his  aim  strike  true. 

"  A  man  that 's  been  in  this  country  as  long  as  I  have 
don't  indulge  in  much  guessin',"  he  then  announced,  "  but, 
your  disposition  bein'  more  triflin'  than  outrageous,  if  I  was 
suddenly  called  upon  to  say,  I  'd  allow  that  mebbe  that  fracas 
was  of  your  doin's." 

"  It  was,"  admitted  Clymer.  "  At  least,  part  of  it  was. 
Do  you  know  Chicago,  Barstow?  " 

[230] 


PARRY,     AS     A     MAKER     OF     WAYS 

"  Jest  about  enough  to  keep  away  from  it.  An'  that 's  a 
whole  lot,  for  my  use ! "  said  Barstow,  with  deep  conviction. 

"  Well  then,  you  know  the  Union  Loop  in  the  downtown 
district,  and,  perhaps,  the  line  of  elevated  railroad  that  leads 
off  across  the  river  and  into  the  northwestern  part  of  the  city. 

"  Mr.  Parry  is  an  experienced  maker  of  ways.  He  is  one 
of  the  engineers  who  made  a  way  for  that  line  of  elevated, 
running  the  base-lines  and  putting  down  the  foundation  bents 
for  the  structure.  And  I  was  his  cub  rodman,  on  my  first 
big  job. 

"  The  company  bought  its  right  of  way  mostly  through 
the  back  yards  of  that  thickly  built  section  and  the  experi- 
ences of  the  right-of-way  man,  as  they  called  him,  would, 
if  told,  make  an  ordinary  army  campaign  seem  trifling  in 
some  respects.  But,  for  that  matter,  we  who  came  after,  to 
make  the  actual  location,  and  later  set  the  foundations,  were 
not  received  with  a  shower  of  bouquets,  by  any  means.  The 
ground  was  largely  acquired  by  condemnation  proceedings 
and  when  we  came  upon  the  field  the  claims  were  not  all 
settled,  though  all  were  sure  to  go  through,  finally. 

"  Ruggleston,  the  right-of-way  man,  who  went  ahead  di- 
recting the  tearing  down  of  fences  and  the  removal  of 
buildings,  carried  a  box  of  mixed  candy,  a  few  beer  checks, 
a  black-jack,  and  a  thirty-eight  calibre  automatic  revolver. 
If  he  failed  to  make  a  successful  entry  with  one  of  these, 
he  always  made  it  with  another.  He  had  a  wide,  disarming 
laugh,  but  a  jaw  that  shut  like  a  steel  trap,  on  occasion,  and, 
taking  it  altogether,  he  was  an  able  diplomat  and  got 
through  with  comparatively  little  personal  damage  to  him- 
self." 

"  Did  the  Chicago  marshal  an*  his  depeties  git  this  here 
Ruggleston  when  they  made  the  round-up  you  're  relatin' 

[231  ] 


MARK      EN DERBY:      ENGINEER 

about?  "  interrupted  Barstow.  "  That's  no  sort  of  an  out- 
fit for  a  white  man  to  tote  around,  an'  they  'd  ought  to  roped 
him  on  suspicion,  seems." 

"  No,"  laughed  Clymer,  "  they  did  n't  bother  Ruggleston 
any.  That  was  all  fixed  up  in  advance,  at  city  headquarters. 
The  road  had  to  go  through,  you  know ! 

"  Well,  on  the  morning  I  'm  thinking  about,  things  seemed 
to  come  to  a  quick  focus.  We  had  been  working  for  some 
weeks  with  both  transit  and  level,  along  an  alley  where  the 
line  parallels  Sheffield  Avenue  below  Wellington  Avenue, 
staking  out  bents  big  as  an  Oklahoma  storm-cellar  and  the 
digger-gang,  about  a  hundred  Italians,  was  following  up, 
sinking  the  foundation  pits,  as  much  as  twelve  feet  deep.  It 
made  a  wilderness  of  the  place. 

"  There  was  one  double  lot  where  an  old  man  had  sat  every 
day,  for  two  weeks,  on  the  second-story  back  porch  of  his 
home,  defending  his  ground  against  invasion  until  his  claim 
should  be  settled.  We  had  come  to  a  speaking  acquaintance 
with  him  in  passing  to  the  work  just  beyond,  and  Mr.  Parry, 
who  is  one  of  the  most  bashful  but  politest  of  men,  as  you 
know,  got  into  the  way  of  calling  to  him  each  morning: 

"  *  Good-morning,  grand-pap !  How  goes  the  battle  this 
morning?  ' 

"  '  Oh,  fair,  fair ! '  the  old  man  would  reply,  and  draw  a 
white  muffler  closer  about  his  gray  face,  while  he  shifted  his 
double-barrelled  shotgun  to  an  easier  position  along  the  porch 
rail  and  scanned  us  narrowly." 

"  That  old  man  5s  a  credit  to  his  camp !  "  declared  Barstow. 

"  On  this  particular  morning,"  Clymer  resumed,  "  Sig- 
mund,  the  big  Swede  foreman  for  the  contractor,  was  walk- 
ing past  with  us,  when  Mr.  Parry  hailed  the  old  gentleman, 
as  usual,  but  got  no  response.  He  sat  there  stooped  and  white 

[232] 


PARRY,     AS     A     MAKER     OF     WAYS 

and  still,  with  the  gun  protruding  out  over  the  railing,  but 
gave  no  sign  of  having  heard. 

"  '  Asleep,  poor  old  fellow ! '  said  Mr.  Parry.  *  It 's 
rather  a  hard  task  for  the  old  man.' 

"  But,  Sigmund,  who  never  gave  evidence  of  more  than 
one  main  idea,  that  of  sinking  pits  and  setting  truncated  con- 
crete pyramids  solidly  in  them,  walked  softly  across  the  open 
lot  and  looked  up  closely  at  the  old  man's  face.  He  came 
back,  in  a  few  moments,  to  where  we  had  halted,  and  said : 

"  '  Just  run  out  a  tape  and  set  them  stakes,  Mr.  Parry ! 
It  won't  harm  the  man  none !  I  '11  talk  to  him  if  he  wakens.' 

"  Mr.  Parry  figured  it  for  a  moment,  and  maybe  thinking 
it  might  help  to  get  the  old  man  used  to  the  idea  when  he 
saw  the  stakes,  told  me  to  catch  the  reference-point  in  the 
base-line  in  the  alley. 

"  We  set  up  the  transit  on  Station  64  plus  50.  I  fastened 
the  link  of  the  tape  there  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  had 
pushed  the  stakes  down  softly,  and  done  the  rest  of  it.  Two 
bents  were  staked  out  under  the  old  man's  gun,  and  he  had 
not  yet  moved  when  Mr.  Parry  and  I  went  on  up  the  alley. 

"  We  came  back  half  an  hour  later  to  catch  a  bench-mark 
and  Sigmund  was  just  ordering  his  diggers  out  of  the  pits. 
The  digging  was  done  there,  except  for  the  final  staking  of 
depth,  and  the  men  were  quietly  scrambling  up  over  the  big 
mounds  of  yellow  loam,  when  the  back  door  opening  onto 
the  porch  above  swung  open,  and  then  a  woman  screamed. 

"  She  appeared  to  take  no  notice  of  the  men  or  of  the 
newly  dug  pits,  but  fell  weeping  upon  the  old  man's  shoul- 
ders, as  the  shotgun  came  thudding  down  and  discharged 
itself  into  the  earth  of  the  garden." 

"  Cashed  in  ?  "  asked  Barstow. 

"Yes,"  said  Clymer.  "Dead  as  Cheops!  That  is  what 

[233] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

Sigmund  had  seen  when  he  walked  over.  Mr.  Parry  told  him 
plainly  that  he  felt  as  though  he  had  been  tricked  into  rob- 
bing a  dead  man." 

"  Well,  I  've  seen  claim- jumpers  bad  hurt  for  less  doin's," 
ventured  Barstow,  "  an'  I  reckon  Mr.  Parry  did  n't  mean  it 
to  come  out  jest  that  way." 

"  No.  He  felt  very  badly  about  it,"  Clymer  said,  "  and 
that  gave  an  unusually  serious  air  to  the  day's  work,  from  the 
start. 

"  We  had  just  come  down  from  carrying  the  old  man  into 
his  house,  when  the  engineer  in  charge  of  the  field  came  up 
the  alley  and  told  us  to  go  up  into  the  next  block  and  stake 
out  six  bents  on  another  contested  place.  He  said  that  the 
claim  had  just  been  settled  at  court,  seven  miles  down  in  the 
heart  of  the  city.  Then  he  turned  away  and  went  back 
down  town. 

"  We  went  immediately  to  the  place.  That 's  where  the 
hand  of  the  law  touched  Mr.  Parry !  And,  between  you  and 
me,  he  has  never  been  what  you  could  call  an  entirely  free 
man  since." 

"  Son,"  said  Barstow,  with  voice  well  lowered,  "  is  this 
here  yarn  alludin'  to  p'int  out  towards  Mr.  Parry  bein'  a 
fug'tive  from  jestice?  If  so,  I  reckon  I  don't  see  the  proper- 
ness,  as  comin'  from  you  !  " 

"  Oh,  no !  It 's  proper  enough,"  maintained  Clymer,  "  but 
his  liberty  is  slightly  restricted ! 

"You  see,  Barstow,  it  was  a  delicate  job  and  had  been 
handled  very  carefully,  bearing  upon  this  particular  prop- 
erty. This  was  a  row  of  homes,  not  rented  tenements,  and 
the  people  were  what  you  would  call  high-grade.  They 
knew  their  rights,  to  a  dot.  The  close  board-fences  had 

[234] 


PARRY,     AS     A     MAKER     OF     WAYS 

been  removed  before  the  tie-up  came  on  the  question  of 
price,  and  the  sodded  back  lawns,  each  with  its  flower  beds 
and  fountain,  lay  open  to  the  alley,  but  as  yet  untouched. 

"  The  old  gentleman  who  built  the  solid  row  of  five  hand- 
some brick  houses  fronting  upon  the  avenue  had  planned  to 
keep  his  children  about  him,  and  as  each  one  married,  he 
gave  one  of  the  houses  as  a  home.  An  unmarried  son  and 
daughter  still  lived  with  him  in  the  nearer  end  of  the  row. 
The  father  was  an  invalid,  whom  we  had  never  chanced  to 
see. 

"  But  it  seemed  all  right  now  to  proceed.  We  set  up  the 
instrument  on  the  base-line,  at  the  nearest  lot,  and  were  upon 
the  lawn,  proceeding  in  the  usual  way  to  stake  out.  I  had 
driven  one  corner  stake  and  Mr.  Parry  had  his  thumb  upon 
the  tape,  stooping  to  locate  the  next  stake,  when  a  tall, 
serene-faced  young  woman,  with  the  steadiest  of  eyes  and 
the  truest  oval  of  a  face  that  ever  I  have  seen,  came  walking 
across  the  grass  with  as  much  composure  and  sureness  as  if 
she  were  walking  down  the  central  aisle  of  a  church  of  which 
she  was  a  member  in  good  standing. 

"  *  Don't  drive  another  stake ! '  she  said,  just  before  reach- 
ing us. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  'm  over-sentimental,  Barstow  — " 

"  No,"  agreed  Barstow,  with  an  affirmative  nod  into  his 
beard.  "  Not  to  say  some  flightsome,  though !  " 

"  But  the  girl's  voice  sounded  to  me  like  mellow-toned  bells 
telling  a  valley's  folk  that  the  day's  work  is  done,"  Clymer 
finished  without  heeding  the  interruption.  "  There  was 
something  fine  as  well  as  final  in  it,  and  I  felt  that  we  were 
very  near  to  something  unusual  and  positive. 

"  I  settled  back  upon  the  grass,  with  .a  stake  in  the  air, 

[235] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

while  Mr.  Parry  turned  red  as  a  sunset  and  stood  holding  to 
the  sagging  tape  with  both  hands,  as  though  it  were  his  last 
hold  of  a  life-line  in  wreck  and  storm. 

"  '  Don't  you  know  that  you  are  trespassing  upon  our 
property  and  that  you  have  no  right  to  be  here  ?  '  she  asked. 
Meanwhile,  she  set  her  left  foot  firmly  upon  the  spot  where 
I  had  touched  the  sod  with  the  second  stake. 

" '  No,  ma'am  — ,'  Mr.  Parry  managed  to  get  out  as  he 
lifted  his  hat.  Then  he  kind  of  choked  or  gurgled,  or  some- 
thing, and  I  came  mighty  near  rolling  over  on  the  grass  and 
laughing,  to  hear  him  saying  such  a  drivelling  thing  to  a 
girl,  after  the  way  I  had  seen  him  thrash  out  a  gang  of 
'  Little  Hell '  toughs  that  tackled  us  one  time  when  we  were 
running  preliminary  down  by  the  river. 

"  I  did  n't  do  it,  though,  because  I  caught  the  look  in  her 
eyes  just  then!  It  wasn't  angry,  but  you  couldn't  have 
laughed  if  you  had  tried.  So  I  talked  a  little,  instead." 

"  Uh-huh !  "  said  Barstow,  looping  another  length  of  tape 
upon  the  floor. 

"  You  see,  I  could  n't  sit  there  and  say  nothing  after  Mr. 
Parry  edged  away  to  the  transit  in  the  alley !  While  I  ex- 
plained to  her  that  we  were  under  orders  and  just  about  had 
to  stake  it  out,  I  kept  moving  the  stake  around  a  few  inches, 
knowing  that  a  little  difference  like  that  would  n't  spoil  the 
pit  location,  and  meaning  to  drive  it  down  while  I  talked  to 
her. 

"  '  Yes,  but  my  brother  Ben  was  to  send  us  word  the  very 
minute  the  claim  was  settled,  and  we  have  not  yet  heard  from 
him ! '  she  urged.  c  Oh,  if  Ben  were  only  here,  you  should 
not  do  that !  Don't  dare  to  drive  that  stake ! ' 

"  Wherever  I  put  the  point  of  the  stake  her  trim  little 

[236] 


PARRY,     AS     A     MAKER     OF     WAYS 

foot  was  always  there  just  ahead  of  it  and  I  got  to  thinking 
how  I  'd  feel  if  that  were  my  home  and  the  claim  unsettled. 
So  I  quit  playing  tag  with  her  foot  and  just  settled  back 
again  on  the  grass.  I  told  her  fairly  what  I  should  do  if  it 
were  my  home. 

"  '  I  'd  just  go  and  'phone  to  Mr.  Ben,  if  I  were  you,'  I 
told  her,  *  and  then  tell  the  policeman  on  the  block  to  come 
and  arrest  us  or  drive  us  off  the  place,  if  Mr.  Ben  says  we 
are  wrong.' 

"  '  And  while  I  am  gone  you  will  turn  those  diggers  in 
here  and  ruin  our  home ! '  she  said  indignantly.  '  Oh,  mercy ! 
There  they  come  now !  Oh,  dear,  if  Ben  were  only  here ! ' 

"  Sure  enough,  Sigmund  was  coming  up  the  alley  with  the 
diggers,  shovels  glinting  and  pick-axes  swaying,  same  as 
'  the  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the  fold ' —  only 
there  was  n't  much  '  purple  and  gold '  in  that  aggregation ; 
nearly  every  other  color,  though! 

"  '  No,  we  won't ! '  I  assured  her,  and  called  Mr.  Parry 
over.  I  was  pretty  sure,  anyhow,  that  he  was  taking  a  good 
look  at  the  girl's  face,  through  the  transit  telescope,  instead 
of  checking  up  on  the  front  and  back  sights  on  a  barn  in 
the  alley  and  on  the  rail  of  the  back  porch  behind  her,  as  he 
was  letting  on. 

"  *  Will  you  wait?  '  she  asked  anxiously,  after  he  had  come 
over  and  understood  the  proposition. 

"  '  Yes,  ma'am,  we  will  wait  fifteen  minutes,'  said  Mr.  Parry, 
with  his  hat  in  his  hand.  '  But  I  don't  see  how  we  could  pos- 
sibly wait  longer  without  orders  to  do  so.' 

"  '  Very  well,'  she  said.  *  I  believe  I  can  trust  you ! '  and 
away  she  went. 

"  She  was  n't  any  more  than  around  the  corner  toward  Shef- 

[237] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

field  Avenue  when  Sigmund  came  up  even  with  the  lot  we  were 
on  and  shouted  to  his  gang  to  fall  in  where  he  saw  the  first 
stake  we  had  driven. 

"  '  Not  yet !  Hold  them  off  a  bit,  Sigmund ! '  commanded 
Mr.  Parry,  raising  his  arm  pretty  sharply,  to  impress  the 
diggers  who  were  already  crowding  upon  the  lawn.  And  Sig- 
mund promptly  threw  both  of  his  arms  into  motion  above  his 
head  and  began  protesting  about  the  loss  of  time. 

"  While  they  stood  in  that  position,  with  the  shovels  and 
picks  joggling  and  heaving  all  about  them,  I  happened  to 
glance  up  Wellington  Avenue  way  and  saw  a  policeman's 
helmet  and  face  poked  around  the  corner  of  the  alley  for  just 
one  look,  and  then  it  disappeared. 

"  You  see,  with  the  gunshot,  and  the  old  gentleman  dying 
that  way  just  in  the  next  block  below,  and  the  inquest  not 
finished  yet,  things  were  a  good  bit  stirred  up  at  the  Shef- 
field Avenue  police  station  that  morning,  and  so  when  the 
young  lady  called  the  patrolman's  attention  in  passing  him, 
he  just  took  a  look  up  the  alley,  hot-footed  it  to  the  call- 
box,  and  turned  in  a  riot-call.  That 's  the  way  it  showed  up 
afterward. 

"  Well,  I  had  seen  Mr.  Parry  and  Sigmund  have  it  out 
pretty  often  over  delays  before  that,  and  Mr.  Parry  always 
won.  So,  I  wasn't  paying  much  attention,  but  just  sit- 
ting there  on  the  grass  sort  of  playing  mumble-the-peg  with 
the  stake,  driving  it  an  inch  or  two  and  pulling  it  up  again, 
when  I  caught  the  flash  of  blue  cloth  and  brass  buttons 
alongside  of  me  and  I  was  being  yanked  to  my  feet  and 
hustled  off  the  patch  into  the  alley.  The  patrolman  had 
returned  from  the  call-box  and  had  me  good  and  tight  by 
the  collar.  I  was  spinning  around  in  the  alley  before  I  had 
a  chance  to  say  *  How ! ' 

[238] 


PARRY,     AS     A     MAKER     OF     WAYS 

"  Up  the  alley  came  a  squad  of  reserves  from  the  Shef- 
field Avenue  station,  trotting  at  a  double-quick.  They 
grabbed  Mr.  Parry  and  Sigmund,  with  no  questions  asked, 
and  hustled  them  into  the  alley  among  the  diggers,  with  Mr. 
Parry  protesting  in  decent  English  and  Sigmund  boiling 
out  stuff  that  would  shatter  concrete. 

"  I  caught  up  the  transit,  which  was  dancing  and  tottering 
around  in  the  midst  of  the  commotion  in  the  alley,  and  shoved 
it  into  an  unused  truck  wagon  that  stood  handy.  Then  I 
was  ready  for  the  bailee! 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  've  seen  in  your  long  and  event- 
ful career,  Barstow,  but  I  doubt  if  you  have  ever  seen  any- 
thing like  what  followed !  " 

"  I  dunno ! "  said  Barstow,  who  had  suspended  operations 
upon  the  tape  and  was  watching  Clymer's  face  with  eyes  that 
had  narrowed  to  mere  slits  under  his  bushy  brows  and  were 
now  gleaming  like  twin  live  coals.  "  I  been  through  a  Ten- 
nessee camp-meetin'  love-feast !  An'  once,  I  see  the  Jicarilla 
Apaches  raid  a  railroad  gradin'  camp,  up  around  Raton 
Pass,  along  in  '79  or  early  '80!  I  allow  this  here  bailee  o' 
yours  bids  fair  to  have  features  that 's  favorable  to  both  o' 
them  events  that  I  witness." 

"  Maybe  so,"  laughed  Clymer.  "  Anyhow,  somebody  had 
missed  the  regular  cue  at  the  Sheffield  Avenue  police  station, 
and  anybody  who  really  knows  Mr.  Parry  would  n't  expect 
to  handle  him  the  way  that  squad  started  in,  unless  it  was 
battle  that  was  wanted. 

"  He  tried  talking  decently  to  them  for  a  spell  longer,  but 
they  kept  on  hustling  him  toward  the  corner  behind  which 
the  two  patrol  wagons  stood  hidden,  and  when  they  got  too 
rough  he  forgot  all  about  their  being  police,  I  guess,  or 
perhaps  did  n't  care  just  then,  and  he  belted  one  of  them  the 

[239] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

stoutest  upper-cut  you  ever  heard  landed  under  a  man's  jaw! 
That  settled  all  notion  of  peace,  for  the  time-being! 
There  was  n't  a  digger  in  that  gang  who  would  n't  have  wel- 
comed the  chance  to  dance  upon  the  mangled  remains  of 
Sigmund,  the  Swede,  and  chant  the  Italian  battle-song  while 
at  it,  for  he  abused  them  without  stint  in  getting  what  he 
thought  the  necessary  amount  of  work  out  of  them. 

"  But  their  feeling  for  Mr.  Parry  was  a  different  matter. 
When,  now  and  then,  he  had  found  some  poor  fellows  work- 
ing and  unprovided  for,  he  shared  his  lunch  with  them  in 
the  field  and  also  bound  up  an  occasional  mangled  finger  or 
painfully  bruised  foot,  until  his  name  was  spoken  among 
them  with  a  kind  of  awe  and  reverence.  Not  one  of  them 
but  would  have  unslung  his  pick  or  shovel  from  under  his 
arm,  or  even  searched  out  a  rusty  stiletto  if  pressed  too  hard, 
in  defence  of  *  Signor  Parree.' 

"  With  the  sound  of  that  first  blow,  there  was  a  rattling 
thud  of  pick-axes  knocked  free  from  their  handles  and  the 
handles  began  bristling  aloft  over  the  heads  of  the  diggers. 
A  man  leaped  to  the  head  of  an  up-ended  cement  barrel  and 
shouted : 

" '  Latis  verborum!  Vivat  respublica!  Vwat  Signor 
Parree!  '  " 

"  What  seemed  to  be  his  complaint? "  asked  Barstow 
soberly. 

"  *  Enough  said !  Long  live  the  republic !  Long  live  Mr. 
Parry ! '  was  what  he  meant  to  announce,"  said  Clymer, 
"  and  he  emphasized  his  remarks  by  caving  in  the  nearest 
policeman's  helmet  with  the  flat  of  his  shovel,  before  the 
night-sticks  got  rightly  into  action  and  brought  him  down 
into  the  general  whirl  of  sticks  and  clubs. 

"  I  did  n't  see  much  chance  to  win  anything  worth  while, 

[240] 


PARRY,     AS     A     MAKER     OF     WAYS 

empty-handed  in  that  uproar,  so  I  climbed  up  and  stood  on 
the  tail  of  the  wagon  and  watched  the  transit  —  and  the 
row! 

"  Big  Sigmund  was  the  centre  of  one  storm  of  night- 
sticks, pick  handles,  and  shovels,  and  as  near  as  I  could  make 
out,  he  was  getting  about  all  that  was  coming  to  him,  from 
all  quarters,  until  he  went  down  and  was  trampled  upon  and 
lost  in  the  whirl. 

"  Mr.  Parry  was  hemmed  in  by  a  circle  of  flashing  shovel 
blades  and  hissing  pick  handles  that  fended  off  and  beat  back 
the  police  struggling  and  clubbing  to  get  through  to  him. 
He  was  safe  as  a  church.  The  diggers  were  fighting  his 
battle,  and  would  n't  even  let  him  out  of  the  circle  to  strike  a 
blow! 

"  At  first,  it  was  all  a  tangled  mass  of  night-sticks  crash- 
ing upon  the  flats  of  shovels,  and  pick  handles  single-sticking 
with  amazing  skill  against  night-sticks.  But  it  soon  began 
dividing  up  into  little  writhing  dots  of  single  pairs  at  that 
kind  of  duelling  and  the  diggers  were  holding  their  own. 

"  The  alley  and  the  lawn  were  strewn  with  battered  police 
helmets,  and  with  men  down  but  striking,  when  Ruggleston, 
the  right-of-way  man,  came  running  around  the  corner  of 
the  alley  and  leaped  into  the  midst  of  the  fight  with  a  wide- 
throated  yell  that  brought  an  instant's  lull. 

"'What  the  blazing  thunder  are  you  fellows  doing? 
Do  you  know?  '  he  bellowed  into  the  face  of  the  sergeant 
of  police.  *  You  act  like  you  don't  know  where  your  job  's 
at!  Quit  it !  Get  back  there,  into  the  alley,  you  diggers ! '  " 

"  Spoke   right   up  to   the   marshal   that   way,   did  he  ? " 
queried  Barstow.     "  I  reckon  you  could  n't  talk  that  way  to 
Abe  Hazard,  down  to  Villa  Rica.     Not  lessen  you  was  to  lead 
up  to  it  mighty  gentle ! " 
16  [ 


MARK     EN DERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  Oh,  yes !  Ruggleston  talked,  all  right.  He  had  been  a 
captain  of  police,  or  something,  before  he  took  the  right- 
of-way  job.  That  is  how  he  happened  to  be  there,  possibly. 
There  are  things,  and  things,  in  a  town  the  size  of  Chicago, 
you  know,  and  all  of  them  have  to  be  considered  on  a  job 
like  that. 

"  Yes,  he  talked,  and  struck  out  a  few,  too.  The  row 
stopped  right  there,  same  as  the  bits  of  color  in  a  kaleido- 
scope stop  tumbling  when  you  rest  your  hand.  Ruggleston 
stood  alone  with  the  sergeant  in  the  middle  of  the  lawn, 
alongside  the  one  lone  stake  I  had  driven.  Out  in  the  alley 
the  diggers  were  tying  up  their  heads  and  laughing  and 
crying  around  Mr.  Parry,  while  they  patted  him  on  the  back, 
and,  in  their  impulsive  way,  called  him  their  saviour,  al- 
though they  had  saved  him  some  lusty  clips  that  had  his 
name  on  them  when  they  were  aimed. 

"  He  helped  bandage  a  few  heads,  shook  himself  free,  and 
made  his  way  over  to  Ruggleston  and  the  sergeant,  just 
when  the  young  lady  came  out  of  the  house  again,  in  breath- 
less haste.  She  took  one  look  at  the  littered  ground  and 
the  mixed  crowd  of  police  and  diggers  and  then  hurried  out  to 
the  group  upon  the  lawn. 

"  '  For  mercy's  sake,  what  has  happened  ?  '  she  cried.  '  It 
is  all  settled  as  we  wished  it  and  you  need  not  fight  about  it ! 
My  brother  has  just  telephoned  that  the  claim  was  settled 
when  court  opened  this  morning!  He  forgot  to  tell  us 
earlier.' 

"  '  Yes,'  replied  Ruggleston.  '  It  was  all  settled  this  morn- 
ing. We  are  going  to  dig  here,  at  once ! ' 

"  '  Not  with  these  men ! '  said  the  sergeant,  laying  his  hand 
upon  Mr.  Parry's  shoulder.  *  This  man  and  his  whole  bunch 
are  under  arrest  and  I  'm  going  to  take  them  in ! ' 


PARRY,     AS     A     MAKER     OF     WAYS 

"  '  Come  on  over  here  a  minute ! '  exclaimed  Ruggleston, 
leading  the  way  toward  the  truck  wagon  where  I  was  still  stand- 
ing, too  much  wound  up  with  the  swiftness  of  the  thing  to 
have  sense  enough  to  climb  down  when  it  was  over.  I  was 
only  a  cub  then,  you  know ! 

"  When  they  got  close  to  the  tail-board  of  the  wagon, 
Ruggleston  faced  squarely  about  upon  him  and  said  in  an 
angry  undertone: 

"  '  Say,  Bill,  don't  you  want  your  job?  ' 

"  *  Sure,  I  want  it ! '  replied  the  sergeant. 

"  *  Then  take  your  flatties  and  get  back  into  the  wagons ! 
Go  on  back  to  the  station  and  tell  headquarters  you  pulled 
the  whole  bunch  and  that  I  '11  bring  them  in,  if  they  are  ever 
wanted.  Then  listen  what  comes  over  the  wire !  You  've 
made  the  rankest  break  that's  been  made  on  this  whole  job, 
Bill !  You  better  crawl ! » 

"  The  sergeant  '  crawled.'  He  loaded  up  and  went,  and 
we  started  in  staking  and  digging.  Just  before  noon,  a 
broad-chested  man  with  whiskers  almost  as  big  as  yours  came 
striding  out  of  the  first  house  and  over  the  lawn  which  we 
were  then  staking  out.  He  headed  straight  for  me  and  I 
braced  myself  for  more  trouble. 

"  *  From  the  description  which  my  sister  gives,'  said  he, 
*  I  believe  that  you  are  the  young  man  who  did  most  of  the 
talking  this  morning  and  that  the  man  at  the  instrument  is 
the  engineer  she  speaks  of.  Am  I  right  about  that?' 

"  '  I  believe  you  are,'  said  I,  edging  away  a  space. 

"  *  Well,  from  what  I  can  understand  of  it,  my  folks  must 
have  become  somewhat  excited,  and  I  want  to  thank  you 
gentlemen  for  the  consideration  shown  when  talking  to  my 
sister.  Won't  you  please  call  your  engineer  over  and  make 
us  acquainted?  I  am  Ben.' 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  The  short  of  it  is,  nothing  would  do  but  that  we  should 
take  luncheon  with  them  at  once.  With  the  old  father  sit- 
ting in  his  invalid's  chair  at  the  head  of  the  table,  smiling 
out  cheerily  from  a  halo  of  snowy  hair  and  beard,  and  the 
young  lady  of  the  stake  affair  presiding  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table,  with  '  Ben  '  across  the  board  from  us  covering  Mr. 
Parry's  reticence  with  a  glow  of  genuine  pleasure,  we  had  the 
most  enjoyable  hour  imaginable. 

"  We  were  invited  there  several  times  afterward,  to  lunch 
or  to  supper,  and  we  accepted  gladly.  I  think  Mr.  Parry 
must  have  gone  more  than  several.  I  lost  track  of  it,  after 
we  got  to  working  further  up  toward  the  end  of  the  line. 

"  And,  Barstow,  that  is  considered  about  the  best  piece  of 
elevated  structure  in  Chicago  to-day.  It  averages  only  four- 
teen hundred  pounds  to  the  total  linear  foot  of  cross-section, 
ready  to  run  trains." 

They  sat  silent  for  a  time,  Barstow  resuming  his  critical 
inspection  of  the  tape  until  he  was  convinced  that  nothing 
of  the  story  had  escaped  him.  Then  he  spoke. 

"  Clymer,  seems  like  you  've  run  trail  o'  that  pers'nal  liberty 
business  o*  Mr.  Parry's  plumb  into  a  timber-slashin'  an'  left 
it  there.  Your  wagon-track  don't  seem  to  lead  nowheres !  " 

"  Have  you  ever  noticed  Mrs.  Parry's  left  foot,  Barstow  ?  " 
Clymer  asked  with  apparent  irrelevance,  as  he  sighted  through 
the  barrel  of  the  transit  to  test  the  clearness  of  the  lenses 
which  he  had  been  fondling. 

"  Have  I  noticed  it? "  exclaimed  Barstow,  sitting  sud- 
denly erect.  "  Well,  bein's  it 's  feet  that  makes  trails,  mostly, 
I  always  aim  to  notice  feet,  some. 

"  But,  times  I  'm  down  to  their  place  in  Villa  Rica  I  've  sot 
onto  their  front  porch  evenin's,  listenin'  to  her  voice,  for  the 


PARRY,     AS     A     MAKER     OF     WAYS 

most  part,  an'  notin'  of  her  comfortin'  an'  counsellin'  them 
chubby  little  boys  o'  their'n,  until  I  've  just  wore  spots  onto 
the  paint. 

"  She  's  the  livin'  image  of  a  girl  I  knowed  in  Kaintuck', 
an'  if  that  girl  had  n't  been  took  to  her  heavenly  home  on 
high,  airly  in  her  womanly  career  — "  He  ceased  abruptly 
and  shook  his  big  head,  with  the  quick,  silent  movement  of  a 
deep-wounded  moose,  then  resumed: 

"  I  'd  allow  to  note  that  Mrs.  Parry's  left  foot  is  a  heap 
like  her  right  foot  —  exceptin'  that  they  're  mates,  o' 
course ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Clymer  after  a  moment's  pause.  "  That  left 
foot  of  Mrs.  Parry's  is  the  foot  that  was  set  under  the  point 
of  the  stake,  and  therefore,  she  is  the  girl  who,  upon  my 
advice  or  in  spite  of  it,  had  Mr.  Parry  and  me  arrested. 

"  That  is  the  fine  difference  in  the  feet,  as  I  see  them ! 
And,  of  course,  Mr.  Parry  has  never  since  been  quite  as  free 
as  he  was  before  that  day." 

"  Uh-huh,"  said  Barstow  gravely. 

And  then,  while  he  wound  the  tape  carefully  into  its  case : 

"  Son,  I  hold  that  to  be  a  mighty  allurin'  tale,  but,  speakin' 
free  an'  friendly,  there  's  some  things  into  this  here  earthly 
life  that 's  too  small  to  mention  in  general  conversin' ;  an' 
Mrs.  Parry's  feet  is,  mebbe,  one  of  them. 

"  You  're  twenty-one  years  an'  upwards,  an'  a  free-speakin' 
citizen  o'  the  republic,  but  if  it  was  me,  I  'd  aim  not  to  mention 
that  stakin'-out  proposition  no  more,  generally  speakin'." 

"  That  is  right  enough,  Barstow,"  Clymer  readily  agreed, 
"  but  I  thought  you  should  know  what  kind  of  sinful  fellow 
Mr.  Parry  really  is.  Especially,  as  Mrs.  Parry  told  me  to 
ask  you  to  come  to  supper  there,  this  evening. 

[245] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  We  are  to  go  down  on  the  coal  drag,  with  Mr.  Parry. 
Will  you  go?  It  is  about  time  to  stack  up  for  to-day." 

"  I  '11  be  ready  jest  as  soon  as  I  can  get  cleaned  an'  breshed 
up  a  little ! "  replied  Barstow,  as  the  last  of  the  tape  went 
home  into  the  reel  and  he  arose  from  his  cramped  position  on 
the  floor. 


[246] 


CHAPTER  XVI 
McPELTRIE'S  WOOING 

IF  it  were  not  that,  in  the  beginning,  the  rolling  of  a  grain 
of  sand  may  change  a  river's  course;  if  McPeltrie  had 
not  boldly  announced  his  creed  in  the  matter  of  hold-ups  and 
later  made  it  good ;  if  Camargo  had  not  ambled  forth  to  the 
fagot  lands  and  brought  McPeltrie  home,  broken  and  humbled 
in  body,  though  victorious  against  the  wrongdoing  of  Lu- 
cero's  gang;  if  none  of  these  things  had  previously  come 
about,  this  sweep  in  the  river  of  McPeltrie's  life  might  well 
have  taken  a  smoother  channel  and  the  story  of  his  wooing 
might  have  been  only  the  simple,  old,  old  story  which  he  whis- 
pered to  his  promised  wife. 

But,  while  life  remains  a  thing  of  many  small  conjunctions 
joining  up  its  main  events ;  a  complex  thing  of  love  and  hate, 
of  hope  and  fear,  of  joy  often  deferred  to  be  tempered  with 
a  vain  regret,  no  man  is  so  brave  that  he  may  hope  for  other 
heritage  and  none  is  so  favored  that  the  rule  of  life  shall  yield 
to  him. 

Following  the  events  of  McPeltrie's  jab  at  Jim  Lucero,  as 
he  had  been  pleased  to  term  the  affair  with  more  of  levity  in 
advance  than  in  the  sequence,  it  had  seemed  to  him  only  civil 
that  he  should  find  his  way  to  Camargo's  dwelling  in  the  Mex- 
ican quarter  of  Villa  Rica  and  properly  thank  the  old  man 
for  his  timely  aid  upon  the  mountain. 

More  than  that,  in  justice  to  him  it  should  be  said  that  a 

[247] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

very  real  gratitude  was  in  his  heart  as  he  wended  his  way 
among  the  humble  little  adobes  and  rapped  upon  the  gay 
blue  door  of  Camargo's  home. 

When  the  door  at  once  swung  open  to  his  rap  it  framed, 
instead  of  the  withered,  half-supplicant  face  of  Camargo,  a 
slender,  glowing  embodiment  of  the  ancient  southwest.  A 
girl  of  perhaps  eighteen  years,  whose  liquid  dark  eyes  smiled 
up  into  McPeltrie's  eyes  of  fighting  blue,  stood  looking  at 
him  out  of  the  calm  reserve  which  even  the  babies  of  her  race 
inherit  from  centuries  of  patient  endurance,  and  which  their 
elders  further  teach.  But,  hers  was  more  than  that.  It  was 
the  half-smiling,  confident  reserve  of  a  certain  culture  that  was 
foreign  to  McPeltrie's  preconceived  idea  of  Camargo  and  his 
probable  surroundings. 

At  the  sound  of  Camargo's  voice  from  within,  he  became 
aware  that  he  was  standing  stupidly  staring  at  the  dull  red  of 
the  dusky  cheeks  and  the  crimson  of  the  small,  full  lips  that 
had  greeted  him  with  a  politely  questioning :  "  Senor?  " 

He  stammered  an  apology,  and  at  the  repeated  request  of 
Camargo,  entered.  The  seared  and  solemn  face  of  the  old 
house-mother  gave  sign  of  neither  joy  nor  sorrow  out  of 
the  common  for  her  race,  but  with  that  hospitality  that  knows 
no  stint  her  voice  was  added  to  that  of  Camargo  in  a  wel- 
come to  their  guest. 

Yes,  senor,  it  was  the  daughter,  Ynez,  to-day  come  home 
from  the  great  school  at  Balceta.  It  was  a  time  of  rejoicing, 
yes,  but  not  yet  of  the  fiesta.  That  should  come  later,  but 
just  now,  they  were  about  to  sup  for  the  evening.  Would 
the  senor  honor  their  poor  abode?  The  house  was  his,  while 
he  would.  Would  he  not  sup  with  them? 

And  McPeltrie,  protesting  in  vain  the  simple  purpose  of  his 
coming,  yielded  to  their  persuasion  and  sat  with  them  through 

[248] 


McPELTRIE'S         WOOING 

the  brief  repast  of  tortillas,  savory  frijoles,  and  the  ever-pres- 
ent fiery  chili  con  came. 

With  his  throat  seared  and  aching  with  the  unaccustomed 
fire  of  the  piquant  dish,  he  presently  found  opportunity  to 
thank  the  old  man  for  aid  rendered  upon  the  mountain,  as 
well  as  to  express  his  real  appreciation  of  their  hospitality. 
Then,  unable,  whether  he  would  or  not,  to  bear  the  fiery  sting 
in  his  throat  longer  without  showing  his  great  discomfort,  he 
beat  a  hasty  retreat  across  town  and  dived  into  the  round- 
house, with  a  mixed  vision  of  that  rare  beauty  that  blooms 
and  fades  like  the  cactus  almost  in  a  day,  and  the  ice-water 
cask  that  he  most  urgently  sought,  dancing  before  his  eyes 
as  he  hastened  into  the  gathering  gloom  of  the  smoky  half- 
circle  of  housed  locomotives. 

The  day  following  saw  him  on  the  run  with  Enderby,  as 
usual,  but  from  his  restless  and  somewhat  useless  exertions 
upon  the  engine  deck,  it  appeared  that  something  more  than 
the  usual  was  at  work  within  him.  Finally,  his  halting  voice 
sounded  what  seemed,  under  the  circumstances,  a  far  call. 
Without  prelude  or  introduction,  he  suddenly  asked: 

"Pap,  how  long  have  you  been  married?  " 

Enderby's  calm  face  lost  none  of  its  look  of  friendly  in- 
terest in  the  doings  farther  back  along  the  train,  and  with  no 
sign  of  having  heard,  he  did  not  at  once  reply.  He  was 
watching  with  his  usual  care  from  the  cab  window  of  the 
Overland  Express,  for  conductor  Waverly's  uplifted  hand  to 
show  above  the  leisurely  movements  of  a  bevy  of  gray-hatted 
cattlemen  upon  the  station  platform  of  the  little  adobe  hamlet 
at  which  the  train  had  halted. 

McPeltrie,  for  the  once  ignoring  the  rule  which  required 
him  to  watch  with  his  engineer  for  all  signals,  kept  up  an 
industrious  sweeping  of  the  engine  deck.  He  knew  that  no 

[249] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

question  of  his  asking  would  go  long  unanswered  by  Enderby. 
In  fact,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  he  had  chosen  a 
moment  in  which  to  launch  his  inquiry  when  he  knew  that  it 
would  not  be  immediately  necessary  to  face  Enderby's  ques- 
tioning glance. 

His  broad  young  back  was  turned  studiously  toward  the  cab 
and  he  was  thrusting  the  broom  into  its  place  upon  the  tender 
when  Enderby  drew  in  from  the  window,  opened  the  throttle 
with  a  measured  pull  or  two,  and  squared  himself  comfortably 
upon  the  seat-box. 

"  Eh  ?  Married  ?  About  twenty-two  years,  I  reckon," 
said  he,  addressing  what  he  could  see  of  McPeltrie's  blue 
blouse  without  disturbing  his  own  satisfactory  position. 
"  Yes,  twenty-two  years,  come  Christmas.  Why?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  replied  McPeltrie  lamely,  "  only  I  was 
thinking  that  you  've  been  glad  and  happy  all  that  time,  like 
as  not ;  except  maybe,  times  when  you  felt  sorry." 

Then  he  climbed  hastily  to  his  seat  by  the  window,  grasped 
the  bell-cord,  and  leaned  far  out  defaming  himself  fiercely 
for  his  bungling  speech.  Enderby  was  still  chuckling  vis- 
ibly if  not  audibly  when,  with  the  train  fairly  in  motion  and 
no  further  excuse  at  the  bell,  McPeltrie  turned  to  face  him. 

"  Well,  yes ! "  laughed  Enderby  in  huge  amusement, 
"and  that's  a  sight  like  saying,  'What  color  is  a  goat?' 
I  reckon." 

As  there  was  no  reply  forthcoming  and  apparently  nothing 
further  required  of  him,  he  hooked  up  the  lever  and  turned, 
smiling  happily,  toward  the  sunny  stretches  of  the  open  which 
were  again  speeding  in  a  widespread,  never-closing  circle 
around  the  engine. 

They  had  taken  their  train  but  one  station  further  upon  the 
run,  with  McPeltrie  alternately  laboring  feverishly  at  the  fire 

[250] 


McPELTRIE'S         WOOING 

and  gazing  hungrily  across  the  cab  at  Enderby,  before  En- 
derby  noticed  his  changing  flush  and  pallor  and  called  him 
over. 

"  Sick  ?  "  he  questioned  briefly. 

"  No,  not  rightly,"  replied  McPeltrie  in  surprise ;  and, 
again  recognizing  the  utter  clumsiness  of  his  reply,  tried  to 
better  it  by  adding  quickly : 

"  That  is,  I  'm  hoping  for  the  best !  "  to  which  he  speedily 
supplemented,  "  Oh,  thunder ! "  and  lustily  attacked  the 
shaker-bar,  which  needed  no  attention  whatever. 

From  all  of  this,  Enderby  reasoned  that  his  surmise  was 
correct  and  that  the  boy  was  ailing.  They  were  getting 
home  pretty  fast,  however,  and  he  wisely  decided  to  await 
further  developments,  which,  as  it  proved,  were  not  long  in 
coming. 

As  they  were  speeding  along  one  of  the  greater  levels,  Mc- 
Peltrie suddenly  thrust  his  shovel  deep  into  the  coal  pile  and 
stepped  up  close  beside  Enderby.  He  was  filled  with  a  high 
resolve  and  with  what  seemed  to  him  much  preparedness. 

Great,  strong  and,  ordinarily,  aggressive  McPeltrie !  He 
emitted  a  sound  that  was  between  a  gurgle  and  a  groan,  as  the 
engineer  turned  questioningly  toward  him,  and  then  his 
thoughts  forsook  him  —  all  save  one,  and  that  one  he  spoke 
without  grace  or  introduction. 

"  Mark,  will  you  let  me  speak  to  her?  1 5ve  got  to  know; 
can't  bear  it  any  longer ! "  he  said  in  white-faced  suffering 
that  paled  him  under  the  grime  of  his  labor  at  the  fire. 

As  the  older  man  looked  at  him  in  kindly,  silent  doubt, 
McPeltrie  added  one  word  that  sent  the  blood  ebbing  from 
Enderby's  face  and  caused  him  to  turn  hastily  to  the  moving 
world  beyond  the  cab  window. 

"  Ruth  !  "  said  McPeltrie,  and  stood  waiting  beside  him. 

[251] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

In  a  few  moments,  Enderby  turned  and  said  slowly  above 
the  dull  rumble  of  the  engine's  working : 

"  It 's  likely  that  hurts  less,  coming  from  you,  Jim,  than  it 
might  from  anywhere  else,  but  I  reckon  I  was  n't  ready  to 
think  about  it.  Stop  in  this  evening,  if  you  like.  We  have 
only  her,  you  know,  and  I  must  talk  with  her  mother." 

"  I  will  come,"  said  McPeltrie  quite  humbly,  yet  with  man- 
ifest relief. 

The  balance  of  the  trip  was  run  in  silences  of  more  than 
usual  length  while,  to  McPeltrie's  eyes,  the  distant  mountain 
heads,  the  wide  expanses  of  the  sun-bitten  earth,  the  waiting 
groups  at  the  stations,  and  even  the  faces  of  the  dusty  herds 
here  and  there  near  the  tracks,  seemed  written  full  of  the 
waiting  intentness  that  possessed  him. 

Enderby  was  hearing  the  cooing  laugh  of  a  baby  girl, 
which  had  softened  the  clamor  of  his  engine,  day  by  day,  in 
the  years  that  had  sped  so  swiftly ;  feeling  the  searching 
touch  of  tiny  fingers  upon  his  face ;  looking,  in  the  mirror  of 
his  mind,  into  the  clear,  questioning  eyes  of  a  blithesome 
young  woman  grown,  his  Ruth  —  their  Ruth,  and  trying  to 
cast  a  balance  with  himself  for  the  time  that  had  stolen  so 
stealthily  away. 

It  is  one  of  the  paradoxes  of  a  father's  love  that,  having 
eyes,  it  does  not  always  see,  and,  having  ears,  it  does  not  al- 
ways hear  aright ;  a  kindly  paradox  of  nature's  making,  per- 
haps that  the  tender  ties  that  bind  and  cling  may  be  broken 
the  more  quickly  and  mercifully  at  the  last,  when  a  nestling 
wings  away  from  the  home  shelter.  And  Enderby,  like  many 
another,  found  himself  unprepared. 

With  unspoiled  candor  and  sweetness,  Ruth  Enderby  was 
accustomed  to  bid  her  father  farewell  at  the  Villa  Rica  station 
when  he  departed,  and  almost  unfailingly,  to  greet  him  at 

[252] 


McPELTRIE'S         WOOING 

his  return.  From  the  time  of  his  own  first  coming  upon 
Enderby's  engine,  McPeltrie's  eyes  had  been  bright  with  ad- 
miration as  he  looked  bashfully  down  from  the  gangway  of 
the  engine  at  Ruth's  pretty,  womanly  face  upturned  to  re- 
ceive her  father's  kiss,  and  in  time  he  had  come  to  be  included 
in  the  greeting  or  farewell  by  a  cheery  word  or  nod. 

Little  by  little,  he  had  found  himself  drawn  toward  the 
Enderby  cottage,  and  gradually  he  had  found  a  tentative 
place  in  their  home  gatherings,  until,  of  late,  his  occasional 
calls  had  been  falling  much  nearer  together.  Without  know- 
ing quite  how  much,  he  had  grown  to  need  a  certain  light  of 
approval  or  understanding  which  he  was  sometimes  able  to 
kindle  in  the  laughing  or  serious  eyes  of  the  girl. 

The  image  of  her  supplely  rounded,  lithe  young  figure,  busy 
among  the  old-fashioned  flowers  in  the  door-yard  below  the 
veranda,  and  her  quick  repartee  ringing  up  with  happy 
laughter  in  response  to  her  father's  quaint  teasing,  or  to  some 
more  ponderous  effort  of  his  own  evolved  from  his  still  un- 
conquered  reticence  in  the  presence  of  women,  had  fixed  them- 
selves more  strongly  in  his  daily  life  than  he  had  been  aware. 

The  original  liking,  which  the  young  people  had  discovered, 
soon  grew  to  a  measure  of  half-confidences  which  sometimes 
found  them  strolling  together  with  Mrs.  Enderby  upon  one 
or  another  of  her  many  errands  of  kindness  in  the  village, 
while  Mark  smoked  and  read  to  the  point  of  peaceful  dozing 
in  the  slanting  rays  of  the  sun,  upon  the  lofty  veranda. 

At  such  times,  Mrs.  Enderby's  placid  face  was  often  turned 
toward  the  purpling  lines  of  the  rim-rock,  with  the  look  of  one 
who  views  the  winging  of  a  distant  flight,  while  she,  with  her 
mother  instinct,  seeing  most  clearly  of  the  four  the  trend  of 
events,  sometimes  ill  concealed  a  shade  of  sadness  in  her  far 
gazing,  yet  never  seemed  wholly  sad. 

[253] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

But  nothing  of  sadness  was  apparent  to  McPeltrie.  He 
had  learned  to  look  chiefly  for  the  dancing  light  in  the 
younger  woman's  eyes  and  to  listen  for  the  musical  note  of 
laughing  approval  of  his  clumsy  bantering.  His  strong 
young  body  was  pulsing  with  a  new  sense  of  the  delight- 
ful fulness  of  life  and  his  heart  was  singing  in  a  strange 
gladness. 

And  now  that  this  new  joy  had  shaped  itself  within  him 
into  a  thing  so  definite  that  it  had  become  the  keen  anguish 
which  he  had  voiced  to  Enderby  on  that  great  day,  he  burned 
with  impatience  for  the  arrival  at  Villa  Rica  and  a  sight  of 
the  waiting  figure  at  the  station.  At  last,  the  deep,  long- 
drawn  whistle  of  the  Overland  was  answering  the  whistle  of 
the  oncoming  Limited  across  the  top  of  the  crater  and  shortly 
they  came  to  rest  together  at  the  station,  far  below. 

Ruth  stood  upon  the  long  board  platform  beside  which 
Enderby's  engine  stopped  and,  at  her  side,  clad  in  the  blue 
drilling  of  the  shops  and  roundhouse,  stood  young  Har- 
per, of  the  experimental  staff,  his  broad,  square  shoulders 
towering  above  the  slim  figure  of  Ruth  and  his  clear,  manly 
face  reflecting  the  light  of  her  staid  smile. 

McPeltrie's  face  faded  through  various  shades  of  red  to 
gray  as  he  acknowledged  Ruth's  grave  nod  of  welcome  and 
watched  Enderby  climb  down  to  receive  her  warmer  greeting 
and  to  grasp  the  hand  of  Harper  in  a  friendly  clasp. 

It  was  all  so  different  from  what  he  had  pictured  as  he 
worked  the  last  feverish  miles  of  the  engine's  homeward  run 
that  his  heart  sank  in  an  unreasoning  way,  then  sent  the  blood 
surging  through  him  in  a  fierce  flood  of  anger.  Turning 
hastily  to  his  final  duties  in  the  cab,  he  went  with  the  engine 
to  the  pit,  and  dismounting  with  his  belongings,  disappeared 
into  the  roundhouse  by  a  different  way  from  that  taken  by 


McPELTRIE'S         WOOING 

Enderby,  who  had  resumed  his  place  to  cross  the  freed  engine 
over  from  the  main  line. 

Early  evening  brought  him  a  better  view  and  frame  of 
mind,  and  when  he  started  up  the  street  he  had  no  other  idea 
than  that  of  going  directly  to  Enderby's  home.  When  he 
neared  the  gate  and  saw  the  old  folks  in  their  usual  places 
upon  the  veranda,  Mrs.  Enderby's  hands  were  folded  in  un- 
accustomed idleness  and  the  figure  of  Ruth,  bending  among 
the  high  flowering  plants  below,  somehow  told  him  that,  thus 
far,  all  was  well  and  that  he  had  yielded  to  a  senseless  flash 
of  anger  without  cause. 

Even  as  his  searching  eyes  discerned  a  strange,  new  look 
of  welcome  upon  the  mother  face  and  his  hand  was  lifting  to 
the  gate-latch,  a  sudden  access  of  ungovernable  bashfulness 
surged  upon  him,  and  with  a  sort  of  terrified  surprise,  he 
found  himself  enveloped  in  a  sense  of  being  stifled  in  a 
dense,  chilling  vapor. 

He  merely  lifted  his  hat  in  response  to  Ruth's  smile  of 
welcome  and  walked  on  past  the  gate.  Then,  grinding  his 
teeth  in  helpless  rage  at  what  he  had  done,  he  hurried  on 
toward  the  steep  trail  that  led  up  the  cliff  to  his  favorite  out- 
look across  the  wide  crater.  With  swift,  climbing  strides 
beyond  the  abrupt  ending  of  the  street,  he  was  soon  seated 
upon  the  flat-topped  crag,  buttressed  into  the  wall  of  rock 
above. 

The  red  slanting  rays  of  the  sun,  which  there  struck  the 
rim-rock  obliquely,  were  climbing  rapidly  upon  the  rugged 
wall  and  the  shadows  in  the  valley  were  growing  higher, 
deeper,  and  far-reaching.  With  his  pulses  again  drumming 
strongly  and  the  familiar,  quiet  scene  sending  up  its  subdued 
sounds  from  below,  he  reassured  himself  in  shamefaced  con- 
sciousness. 

[255] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

"  In  a  little  while,  when  the  dusk  is  falling,  I  will  drop  in !  " 
he  said. 

He  was  scarcely  seated,  it  seemed  to  him,  with  his  eyes  upon 
the  diminished  figure  in  the  old  garden  below,  when  the  one 
broad  shaft  of  remaining  sunlight  that  glowed  through  the 
notch  of  the  western  pass  and  gilded  the  point  upon  which  he 
sat,  was  broken  by  the  arrival  of  some  one  at  the  head  of  the 
trail  which  led  in  just  above  him. 

Turning,  he  arose  in  surprise  at  sight  of  Ynez,  Camargo's 
one  ewe  lamb,  standing  clearly  limned  alone  against  the  sky- 
line, almost  within  the  length  of  a  single  stride. 

"  Senor!  "  she  said,  in  the  single  word  of  soft-voiced  greet- 
ing with  which  she  had  earlier  welcomed  him  to  her  home,  and 
held  forth  to  him  two  waxen  blooms  of  the  cactus,  one  of 
crimson,  one  of  white,  the  emblems  to  her  race  of  deep  regard 
and  truth. 

Advancing  upward  the  step  that  made  it  possible  for  him 
to  accept  them,  he  saw  Camargo,  wearied  with  his  long  march 
beside  his  burros,  lying  prone  upon  the  farther  slant  of  the 
rock  close  over  the  crest  that  sloped  away  toward  the  timber 
lands. 

With  mixed  memories  of  his  own  sorry  plight  when,  upon 
another  day,  he  had  ridden  dizzily  in  upon  that  crooked  trail 
with  Camargo's  hand  sustaining  him,  he  chatted  with  them 
for  a  few  moments,  standing  upon  the  crest,  and  then  re- 
sumed his  seat  upon  the  rock  as  the  little  burro  train  and  its 
owners  headed  in  upon  the  descent  and  wound  its  way  down 
into  the  crater. 

With  no  clear  idea  of  the  significance  of  the  little  blossoms 
which  he  turned  admiringly  in  his  hands,  and  therefore,  un- 
knowing that  the  steel-blue  glint  of  fire  in  his  eyes  had  kin- 
dled that  in  the  heart  of  Camargo's  daughter  which  later 

[256] 


McPELTRIE'S         WOOING 

would,  with  the  impulse  of  her  race,  become  a  consuming  fire, 
he  mused  in  increasing  composure: 

"  They  are  a  good-hearted  lot,  Camargo's  people,  when 
you  know  them.  Well,  boy,  you  must  be  going  down,  unless 

you  want  to   call  yourself  a   rank   outsider,   and   a   c . 

Nope,  I  'm  no  coward,  but  I  was  certainly  mighty  scared, 
somehow." 

At  which,  he  took  his  way  swiftly  down  the  trail  toward  the 
cottage.  He  could  not  know  that  the  young  face  in  the 
garden  below,  upturned  at  an  unfortunate  moment  in  its  ac- 
customed farewell  to  the  sun's  last  bright  shaft  upon  the 
rock,  had  become  ashen  gray  at  sight  of  the  two  figures 
plainly  outlined  there. 

Her  exclamation,  which  was  more  than  half  a  moan,  had 
directed  Mrs.  Enderby's  eyes  also  upward,  but  the  low  note 
of  anguish  did  not  reach  the  ears  of  Enderby,  deeply  im- 
mersed in  the  contents  of  his  paper,  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
veranda.  Then,  too,  the  click  of  the  gate-latch  had  made  a 
timely  distraction  and  Enderby  took  from  the  hand  of  Man- 
uel, the  Mexican  caller,  a  telegram  which  he  regarded  with 
some  surprise. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  when  he  had  read  the  short  message, 
"  I  '11  go  down  to  the  roundhouse  for  a  few  minutes.  When 
Jim  stops  in,  just  say  that  I  '11  not  be  long  away." 

"What  is  it,  father?  "  asked  Mrs.  Enderby,  wondering  at 
the  jubilant  note  in  her  husband's  voice,  but  with  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  face  of  her  daughter. 

"  This  is  a  secret,  mother,  until  I  get  back,"  he  replied, 
and  took  his  way  down  the  street  toward  the  tracks. 

A  few  moments  later,  Ruth's  stricken  young  voice  was 
whispering  upon  her  mother's  comforting  breast,  within  the 
seclusion  of  the  cottage : 

V  [  257  ] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

"  Oh,  mother,  how  could  he?  How  could  he?  What 
does  it  mean?  " 

"  Hush,  dear,  there  must  be  something  that  we  do  not  un- 
derstand," replied  the  mother.  "  A  little  time  does  so  much 
for  us  all." 

McPeltrie,  knowing  none  of  these  things,  noted  with  deep 
mortification  when  he  had  come  down  from  the  rocks  that  the 
Enderbys  were  nowhere  in  sight  and  that  the  cottage  blinds 
were  closely  drawn  in  the  deep  dusk.  He  hesitated  un- 
certainly for  a  moment  at  the  gate  and  then  plunged  deject- 
edly down  into  the  village. 

With  anger  at  himself  and  misery  surging  through  every 
vein  of  him,  he  turned  the  first  corner  of  the  main  street  and 
collided  with  lowered  head  against  some  one  walking  rapidly 
in  the  other  direction.  His  hat  went  spinning  across  the 
rough  board-walk  and  into  the  littered  gutter.  It  was  the  last 
touch  upon  his  smarting  spirit  and  he  straightened  with  a 
half -suppressed  curse  and  squared  himself  for  battle. 

"  I  'm  sorry  for  that !  Perhaps  it  was  my  fault !  "  spoke 
an  earnest  voice,  and  he  was  looking  fiercely  into  the  friendly 
face  of  young  Harper. 

"  Maybe  you  are !  Maybe  it  was !  "  he  ground  out  through 
his  clenched  teeth.  "  Seems  like  you  are  getting  mighty 
numerous  in  this  town  !  " 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Harper  in  some  surprise  as  he 
handed  McPeltrie  his  fallen  hat. 

"  Maybe  you  don't,"  replied  McPeltrie  with  bitter  sar- 
casm, "  but  you  will  if  you  cross  my  trail  again !  " 

Recovering  his  hat  from  Harper's  extended  hand  with  a 
rude  jerk,  he  jammed  it  upon  his  head  violently  and  turned 
away,  leaving  Harper  to  wonder  at  his  unusual  display  of 
churlishness. 

[258] 


McPELTRIE'S        WOOING 

Fast  as  McPeltrie  walked,  within  the  block  he  was  travers- 
ing shame  overtook  him  and  he  turned  about  to  seek  Harper 
with  an  apology.  He  had  begun  to  see  himself  in  a  light 
that  was  anything  but  pleasing. 

"  I  '11  play  the  game  and  I  '11  win  !  "  he  said  aloud.  "  If 
he  's  in  it  I  '11  beat  him,  but  I  '11  play  it  square !  I  'm  big 
enough,"  he  finished  with  a  bitter  laugh. 

But,  his  search  was  fruitless.  Harper  was  gone,  and  mak- 
ing his  way  directly  to  his  room,  McPeltrie  tossed  restlessly 
upon  his  bed  until  at  last  he  fell  asleep  with  the  shame  of  his 
gross  insult  to  Harper  and  the  weight  of  a  lost  opportunity 
tugging  at  his  heart. 

Enderby,  returning  meanwhile  to  his  home,  unfolded  his 
secret. 

"  It 's  Dinwiddy,"  said  he  gleefully,  "  wiring  from  Alta 
Vista.  He  told  me,  a  little  while  back,  that  he  was  going  to 
run  for  it  as  soon  as  traffic  eased  a  little,  and  have  a  month's 
visit  and  some  fishing  up  there  in  the  Geyser  Water.  He  has 
his  wife  there  and  wants  us  to  come  up. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  I  've  got  it  all  squared  for  starting 
in  the  morning,  if  you  'd  like  it." 

He  wondered  some  at  the  eagerness  with  which  Mrs.  En- 
derby and  Ruth  set  immediately  about  their  packing  for  the 
journey  and  also  found  time  to  wonder  at  the  failure  of  Jim 
to  stop  in,  but  since  he  had  no  reason  to  suppose  that  his 
guess  would  not  be  as  good  as  theirs,  he  asked  no  questions 
then,  and  the  early  morning  saw  them  speeding  away  on  the 
daylight  special  toward  old  friends  and  familiar  scenes  at 
Alta  Vista. 

McPeltrie  got  his  first  news  of  the  departure  of  the  En- 
derbys  shortly  after  he  had  missed  the  old  man  from  the  water- 
tank  gathering,  later  in  the  morning.  But,  as  it  chanced, 

[259] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

nobody  referred  to  the  journey,  and,  somehow,  he  felt  that  he 
could  ask  no  questions  about  Enderby  before  the  group. 

Finding  Dodson  busy  about  the  engine  of  the  Limited,  in 
Enderby's  stead,  however,  he  could  not  longer  restrain  his 
question. 

"  Where  »s  Mark?  "  he  asked. 

"  Gone  to  Alta  Vista,  with  his  folks,"  replied  Dodson 
shortly.  "  Enderby  's  getting  gay  in  his  old  age.  Gone 
fishing,  by  dad,  and  left  me  with  this  old  kettle  of  an  engine, 
at  a  minute's  notice !  " 

This,  although  the  engine  was  really  very  good,  as  Dodson 
was  aware,  but  it  was  just  a  way  he  had  of  limbering  up  his 
wits  for  the  day's  run. 

The  month  had  nearly  passed  and  McPeltrie,  abstracted 
and  unhappy,  had  worked  through  with  Dodson,  to  the  clos- 
ing day  of  Enderby's  leave.  The  Limited  was  hurrying  east- 
ward from  Balceta,  with  Dodson  and  McPeltrie  in  the  cab, 
while  far  to  the  east  of  Villa  Rica  the  Overland  was  bearing 
the  Enderbys  home  from  Alta  Vista. 

Cooling  his  face  at  the  cab  window  as  the  engine  of  the 
Limited  sped  swiftly  down  one  of  the  many  wide-curving 
grades,  McPeltrie  was  more  intent  upon  the  vision  of  Mark's 
cottage  and  its  lost  joys  than  upon  the  things  immediately 
about  him.  Therefore,  the  dim  hour-glass  shape  of  a  mail 
sack,  suspended  against  the  prevailing  gray  of  the  desert, 
failed  to  catch  his  eye  in  the  accustomed  moment  of  the  swift 
descent  upon  it. 

The  brooding  sadness  of  his  eyes  flashed  out,  just  a  moment 
too  late,  in  a  glance  of  terrified  recognition  before  the  engine 
dashed  by  the  sack,  and  McPeltrie  swirled  crashing  down 
upon  the  engine  deck  and  back  over  the  lapsheet,  against  the 
coal  gates  of  the  tender,  white  under  his  grime,  and  still,  ex- 

[260] 


McPELTRIE'S         WOOING 

cept  for  the  slender  line  of  crimson  that  trickled  slowly  down 
from  his  temple. 

"  Glance  blow ! "  said  Dodson  to  himself  as  he  straightened 
him  out  upon  the  deck  and  brought  the  train  to  a  quick  stop. 

Even  while  Dodson  was  thus  affording  himself  this  poor 
bit  of  hope  and  consolation,  Mrs.  Enderby  in  the  train  speed- 
ing from  Alta  Vista  was,  by  that  irony  which  sometimes  seems 
to  rule  events,  imparting  to  Ruth  a  new  light  upon  the  inci- 
dent of  the  crag  above  Villa  Rica.  It  had  developed  from 
the  councils  of  the  parent  Enderbys  that  Mark  had  passed 
the  little  burro  train  in  the  street,  as  Camargo  and  his  daugh- 
ter came  down  from  the  crag,  which  had  the  effect  of  making 
it  quite  of  the  commonplace  order  of  things.  Ruth,  there- 
fore, was  smiling,  ruefully,  far  away,  while  the  little  thread 
of  crimson  started  abruptly  from  McPeltrie's  wounded  head. 

So  it  came  about,  that  when  Muller,  coming  into  Villa  Rica 
with  the  Overland  an  hour  later,  drew  slowly  to  a  stop  beside 
the  Limited,  which  Dodson  had  just  brought  to  a  standstill 
there,  he  landed  the  Enderbys  directly  alongside  the  stretcher 
upon  which  McPeltrie  lay. 

Dodson  and  others  were  bending  to  bear  him  away  from  the 
group  that  had  gathered  at  the  spreading  of  the  news  of 
what  Dodson's  train  was  bringing.  In  the  inner  rim  of  these, 
and  none  more  sad  than  they,  stood  Camargo  and  his  daugh- 
ter, Ynez. 

"  Why,  it 's  Jim,"  exclaimed  Enderby,  as  the  circle  opened 
and  they  stepped  into  it  from  the  car  steps.  He  spread  his 
hands  with  an  involuntary  backward  movement,  as  though  to 
withhold  the  sudden  shock  of  it  from  Mrs.  Enderby  and 
Ruth  at  his  side.  But  the  control  of  events  was  not  to  be 
of  Enderby's  kindly  guidance. 

Some  half-ray  of  understanding  found  its  way  to  the  be- 

[261] 


MARK     EN DERBY:     ENGINEER 

numbed  senses  of  McPeltrie  at  the  familiar  sound  of  En- 
derby's  voice,  and  started  anew  the  refrain  of  his  own  painful 
utterance  which  had  wrought  itself  into  a  torturing  mon- 
otone with  the  beating  of  the  engine,  in  the  sorry  days  just 
past. 

"  Mark,"  he  muttered  strongly,  "  will  you  let  me  speak  to 
her?  I  must.  Ruth." 

"  Oh,  father ! "  cried  Ruth,  as  she  shrank  back  into  the  old 
man's  arms.  "  Mother ! " 

The  heart-searching  pathos  of  that  tremulous  note  which, 
in  every  tongue,  has  spoken  a  woman's  awakening  joy  and 
sorrow,  down,  unchanged,  through  the  ages,  quivered  in  her 
voice,  and  now  Villa  Rica  knew  what  it  had  only  guessed,  or 
hoped,  before. 

"  Father,  did  you  know  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Mother,  did  he 
know?" 

"  Hush,  child,"  her  mother  whispered.  "  Jim  was  to  come 
in  for  his  answer  the  night  we  went  away.  I  don't  know 
why  he  went  on  toward  the  cliff." 

"  I  know ! "  she  spoke  out  bravely,  forgetting  the  silent 
group.  "  I  know  all  of  it,  now,  you  poor,  big,  timid  boy," 
she  mourned,  stooping  to  touch  McPeltrie's  unconscious,  ban- 
daged face. 

In  that  moment,  her  voice  gained  almost  the  depth  of  a 
mother's  voice  soothing  a  troubled  child.  The  universal 
note  rang  true  and  full ;  so  true  and  telling  that  it  struck 
deeper  into  the  secret  soul  of  another  suffering  woman  stand- 
ing there  than  her  flesh  could  bear  unmoved.  Unobtrusively, 
Ynez  had  edged  ahead  of  her  father  and  stood  touching 
elbows  with  Abe  Hazard,  the  marshal,  looking  down  upon  the 
brief  enactment.  Now,  there  was  blazing  in  her  eyes  the 
primal  fire  of  a  tigress  despoiled  of  her  mate.  Her  hands 

[262] 


McPELTRIE'S         WOOING 

were  clenching  and  clutching  spasmodically  and  her  gaze 
was  fixed  hungrily  upon  the  curve  of  Ruth  Enderby's  white 
throat,  from  which  pitying  words  of  love  were  welling  softly. 

Suddenly,  she  crouched  as  for  a  spring  and  Hazard's 
watchful  eyes,  never  long  at  fault,  quickly  shifted  to  her 
straining  body.  Just  once,  he  looked  into  her  face,  and  then 
he  caught  her  wrists  in  a  grip  like  iron  and  pressed  her  slowly 
back  toward  Camargo. 

With  a  cry  that  rang  for  many  days  in  the  ears  of  those 
who  heard  it,  she  wrenched  herself  free  from  Hazard's  mo- 
mentarily slackened  grasp  and  fled  swiftly  toward  the  trail 
that  mounted  upon  the  face  of  the  rim-rock.  Camargo, 
swift  beyond  his  years,  instinctively  followed,  and  while  Mc- 
Peltrie  was  being  borne  away  to  the  hospital,  Villa  Rica 
stood  wondering  at  the  strange  race  up  the  rugged  face  of  the 
cliff. 

Once,  she  fell  and  failed  to  rise  until  the  aged  Mexican  had 
come  almost  up  with  her.  Then  she  bounded  to  her  feet  and 
ran  stumbling  up  the  remaining  heights,  close  in  advance 
of  him.  For  a  single  moment,  as  Camargo's  outstretched 
hands  were  about  to  close  upon  her,  she  stood  outlined  upon 
the  top  of  the  sheer  crag,  and  then  she  leaped  far  out  into 
the  gay  morning  sunshine  and  came  fluttering,  sweeping 
down,  a  swift-moving  vision  of  white  gown  and  flashing  red 
reboso  against  the  purple-black  of  the  rim-rock. 

Camargo  came  stumbling  down  the  trail,  bowed  and  broken 
under  the  load  of  his  grief,  and  they  found  her,  a  crumpled 
bit  of  white  and  red  and  dainty  brown,  whose  imagination, 
fired  by  its  one  fleeting  view  of  the  white  man's  world  beyond 
the  confines  of  Villa  Rica,  had  at  last  impelled  her  to  flee 
from  a  world  which  she  could  not  comprehend. 

McPeltrie's  weary  days  in  hospital  were  frequently  bright- 

[263] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

ened  by  visits  of  the  Enderbys  and  small  delegations  from 
the  water-tank  caucus,  until  his  rugged  strength  had  com- 
pletely won  back  for  him  his  active  joy  in  life.  The  unhappy 
end  of  Camargo's  daughter  laid  its  sadness  upon  the  little 
town  for  a  time,  but  not  too  deeply,  in  a  community  that 
well  understood  the  impulsive  native  heart.  So  well,  indeed, 
was  the  sad  affair  understood  by  all  that  among  McPeltrie's 
most  faithful  friends  in  the  time  of  his  convalescence  were 
found,  unfailingly,  Camargo  and  his  aged  wife. 

While  the  days  followed  each  other  swiftly,  until  another 
year  had  laid  its  early  covering  of  green  upon  the  favored 
places  of  the  high  country,  McPeltrie's  wooing  went  happily 
on.  Then,  one  morning,  the  water-tank  bench  was  deserted 
long  before  the  coming  of  the  overland  express  trains,  and 
when  Muller,  later,  pulled  out  with  the  train  for  the  east,  the 
trim  gray-clad  figure  of  the  newly  made  Mrs.  McPeltrie 
stood,  upon  the  rear  of  Muller's  train,  beside  stalwart  Jim, 
whose  bashfulness  seemed  to  have  fallen  from  him  like  a  dis- 
carded mantle,  in  the  new-found  joy  of  his  possession. 

From  the  steadily  lessening  observation  end  of  Muller's 
train,  together  they  waved  a  farewell  both  tearful  and  gay 
to  the  waving  group  that  included,  not  only  most  of  the 
members  of  the  adjourned  water-tank  caucus,  but  also  Mrs. 
Enderby,  the  Camargos,  and  many  others  who  were  not  to  be 
found  in  the  usual  water-tank  councils.  And  until  the  time 
of  their  return  to  the  new  cottage  that  had  risen  beside  that 
of  Enderby,  the  heart  of  Villa  Rica,  severally  and  as  one, 
went  out  in  well-wishing  after  the  young  travellers.  Return- 
ing, the  heart  of  Villa  Rica  continued  to  abide  with  them  in 
well-wishing  and  friendly  doings,  while  they  dwelt  there. 


[264] 


CHAPTER  XVII 
THE  FIRES  OF  SORROW 

£  6  T   AM  an  old  man !     Yes,  very  old ! 

X.  "  *  When  the  red  blood  ran  strong  in  the  heart  of 

the  father  of  my  father's  father  — '  " 

"  Rod  up ! "  ejaculated  Nate  Clymer,  turning  luxuriously 
in  the  litter  of  fresh-cut  cedar  boughs  where,  idly  stretched 
upon  a  dizzy  lip  of  cliff,  he  had  been  gazing  in  fascination 
into  the  depths  below.  "  Ye  gods  of  the  sun,  and  of  the 
moon,  and  of  the  constellation  Pleiades !  How  old  are  you, 
Mr.  Parry,  and  when  was  this  ?  " 

The  young  rodman's  voice  carried  a  half-serious  note  of 
youth  defeated  of  its  inherent  primary  knowledge  of  all 
things,  and  Parry,  who  kept  a  liberal  measure  of  good-fellow- 
ship, without  quite  releasing  the  discipline  with  which  he  held 
his  corps  in  the  field,  was  not  quick  to  reply. 

"Clymer,  you-all  squawk  like  a  young  he  bluejay!" 
Barstow,  the  axeman,  drawled  solemnly  through  his  tangled 
beard,  and  spat  far  out  over  the  lip  of  the  cliff.  "  Mr.  Parry, 
that  sounds  — ' 

"  Like  a  man  making  medicine  in  the  depths  of  an  estufa," 
Clymer  interrupted  gleefully,  "  or  from  the  inside  of  a  raw- 
hide tent ! " 

"  Rawhide  tent ! "  echoed  the  old  mountaineer  derisively. 
"  Reckon  it  would  n't  hurt  you-all,  youngster,  to  listen  a 
heap  more.  Tents  wa'  n't  never  made  of  rawhide,  nohow !  " 

[265] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

he  advised,  with  a  rare  twinkle  in  his  usually  solemn  eyes 
showing  a  slowly  acquired  liking  for  Clymer's  sometimes  aim- 
less chatter. 

"  Seems  like  there 's  nobody  around  here  but  Camargo,  old 
enough,  and  wise  enough,  to  talk  such  a  way,  Mr.  Parry,  and 
he  don't  talk  none  bountiful  for  common,"  Barstow  finished, 
with  a  suggestive  look  at  Clymer. 

"  Not  a  bad  guess,  Barstow,"  replied  the  engineer,  calmly 
searching  out  a  pouch  and  tamping  his  pipe.  "  It  seemed 
not  only  reasonable  —  it  was  sinister,  convincing,  as  he  spoke 
last  night  upon  the  mountain,  and  I  will  own  that  I  wanted 
to  test  it  here,  with  the  mine-workings  before  us  in  the 
canyon  and  you  men  to  listen  before  the  daylight  goes." 

"Try  it  on  the  dog,  eh?"  queried  Clymer  contentedly. 

"  As  it  were,"  replied  Parry  soberly. 

His  eyes  ranged  far  out  across  the  deep  canyon  and  up 
the  glistening,  snow-clad  slopes  that  rose  steeply  from  the 
shadows  below.  He  looked  lingeringly  down  upon  the  dark- 
ening outlines  of  breaker  and  shaft-house,  and  upon  rows  of 
rough  board  cabins  in  a  widening  of  the  gulch. 

When  his  glance  came  back  at  last  into  the  brilliant  winter 
sunshine  that  still  bathed  the  bare  brown  cliff  upon  which 
they  were  halted  for  a  breathing  spell  after  a  hard  after- 
noon's tramp  with  transit  and  chain,  the  thick  lenses  of  his 
glasses  focussed  upon  the  alert  young  face  of  Clymer,  and, 
somehow,  conveyed  an  effect  of  remoteness  and  reproof. 

"  Squelched,"  said  Clymer  contritely.  And  subdued  for 
the  time-being,  but  not  humiliated,  he  locked  his  hands  under 
the  back  of  his  head,  settled  yet  more  comfortably  into  his 
lounge  of  green  boughs,  and  waited  in  respectful  silence. 

Parry  struck  a  match,  puffed  a  contented  whiff  or  two,  and 
resumed  the  book  of  field-notes  which  he  had  laid  face  down- 

[266] 


THE        FIRES        OF        SORROW 

ward  upon  the  gnarled  cedar  root  where  he  sat,  at  the  first 
interruption. 

"  Clymer,"  said  he,  in  his  methodical  way  of  clearing 
things  up  as  he  went,  "  I  am  only  thirty-five  and  you  are  — • 
less  than  that.  But  this  was  along  about  1541,  I  should 
say,  when  Coronado  and  his  celebrated  bands  of  steel-clad 
mendicants  'and  ruffians  bruised  and  otherwise  misused  this 
strip  of  country,  in  the  name  of  friendship  and  salvation. 
So,  listen !  " 

"  Whoop  —  ee !  "  remarked  Clymer  under  his  breath,  but 
listened. 

"  '  When  the  red  blood  ran  strong  in  the  heart  of  the 
father  of  my  father's  father  and  he  was  as  the  full-plumed 
young  eagle  upon  these  crags  which,  even  then,  were  gray 
with  years,  my  people  knew  the  black  rock  that  gleams  like 
the  eye  of  the  serpent,  and  they  wept  upon  it  in  their  sorrow ! 

"  '  When  the  man  Malkiche  and  others  of  his  Men  From 
Heaven  fell  upon  Tenochtitlan  the  people  of  my  people  were 
scattered  wide  and  some  came  far  to  dwell  in  peace  here  by 
the  great  rivers,  with  the  Pueblo.  For  many  years  they 
dwelt  in  peace  and  plenty  and  then,  when  the  snows  were 
white  and  heavy  upon  the  land  they  sought  them  out  again 
—  Coronado,  Alvarado,  and  Cardenas  the  cursed  —  to  take 
the  blankets  and  the  winter's  corn  and  ride  them,  naked  under 
the  shod  feet  of  beasts,  into  the  cold  rivers. 

"  '  Then  the  people  of  my  people  fled  to  these  crags  and 
in  their  caves  built  them  fires  of  the  black  rock,  that  they 
might  give  no  smoke  sign,  as  the  fagot  fire,  to  lead  the  white 
men  on.  But,  only  in  their  great  need  they  digged  and 
burned  the  black  rock,  for  the  heart  is  the  life  and  Huitza- 
lopochtli,  the  great  god  of  my  people's  gods,  loves  not  them 
who  dig  to  the  heart  of  earth,  and  he  will  kill ! 

[267] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

'; '  Where  the  rock  is  stolen  the  waters  will  fall  and  quench, 
quench,  quench  the  lives  of  them  that  dig!  I  like  not  white 
men  who  are  as  the  men  of  Malinche ;  nor  yet  the  blacks  who 
now  dig  in  the  valley,  but  you  —  you  have  kindness.  I 
would  not  see  you  perish.  Go  no  more  into  the  heart  of 
The  Fires  of  Sorrow,  senor.  The  time  is  at  hand ! '  " 

Closing  the  note-book  and  carefully  returning  it  to  his 
jacket  pocket,  Parry  looked  searchingly  into  the  faces  of  his 
companions.  Barstow  was  staring  straight  at  the  root  upon 
which  Parry  sat  and  his  impassive  face  gave  no  hint  of  any 
impression  he  had  received. 

"  Your  native  here,  and  hereabout,  whatever  his  origin, 
has  a  poetic  strain,"  said  Parry,  "  but  what  do  you  make  of 
this?  It  has  taken  surprising  hold  of  me." 

Clymer  turned  slowly,  until  he  lay  face  downward  upon 
the  edge  of  the  cliff,  his  heels  airily  lifted  above  his  back 
and  his  head  craning  out  over  the  dizzy  depths.  His  voice, 
when  he  had  gazed  his  fill  at  the  busy  scene  below,  came  back 
in  a  thin  and  wiry  strain. 

"  I  guess  it 's  poetry,  all  right  —  or  maybe  pulque!  But, 
what 's  he  mean  about  the  fire  and  water?  " 

"  That,"  said  Parry  with  his  eyes  upon  Barstow's  face,  "  is 
the  question  that  he  would  not  answer ! " 

"  He  said  more  truth  than  po'try ! "  spoke  Barstow,  rap- 
ping his  pipe  vigorously  upon  the  heel  of  his  boot.  "  I  know 
nothing  of  the  coming  of  his  people,  but  this  I  know: 

"  There  has  been  sorrow  a-plenty  for  them  here,  far  back 
and  not  so  far.  And,  some'eres  across  the  canyon,  deep 
down  in  the  old  shaft  that  they  call  in  their  tongue  '  The 
Fires  of  Sorrow,'  may  be  the  waiting  water!  Nobody  knows 
jest  what 's  there  by  now,  though  the  story  goes  that  there  's 

[268] 


THE        FIRES        OF        SORROW 

nigh  a  score  of  Camargo's  people  caught  down  there  when  she 
filled  and  caved,  first  time." 

"  Old  shaft ! "  said  Parry  tensely.  "  I  have  heard  nothing 
of  that !  There  is  no  record  of  it  in  my  office !  " 

"  Not  wishing  to  differ  with  you  abrupt,  Mr.  Parry,  I 
think  there  's  a  record.  I  've  carried  chain  and  druv  stakes 
a  lot  before  you-all  come  out  here  to  open  up  the  new  shaft, 
and  once  I  see  a  picture,  like,  of  them  old  workings  —  I  think 
I  see  it  sticking  out  of  a  box  of  things  in  my  tool-shack 
again,  t  'other  day  when  we  're  makin'  ready  to  come  out  and 
run  this  last  top-line.  Likewise,  I  know  them  that 's  seen  that 
old  shaft  half  full  of  water,  before  it  caved  the  last  time. 

"  Seems  like  the  folks  that  worked  this  hard-coal  prospect 
before  the  railroad  took  it  wa'  n't  so  very  up  to  handlin'  their 
business  in  this  kind  of  workings,  and  there  's  never  so  very 
much  said  about  them  peons  that  got  caught  —  seein'  they  're 
only  peons" 

"  About  where,"  said  Parry  rising,  "  would  you  say  the 
old  shaft  lies,  looking  from  this  point?  Could  you  locate 
it  roughly  ?  " 

"  Sure !  To  a  dot ! "  replied  Barstow,  promptly  rising 
and  extending  his  long  arm  forward  over  the  shoulder  of  the 
engineer.  "  Yon  sink  in  the  snow  marks  all  that 's  left  of  it 
above  ground ! " 

Straight  and  deadly  as  a  spear,  Barstow's  lean  arm  sighted 
across  the  mouth  of  the  new  shaft  to  a  circular  gray  shadow 
upon  the  slope  of  snow  above  it,  and  a  thrill  of  sickening 
fear  shot  to  Parry's  heart  as  his  eye  followed  the  line  in- 
dicated. Of  this,  however,  he  gave  no  sign  but  stood  fixedly 
studying  the  peaceful  view  below. 

A  locomotive  was  pushing  a  curving  line  of  empties  in 

[269] 


MARK     EN DERBY:     ENGINEER 

upon  the  tipple  spur.  The  slow  throb  of  the  pumps  at 
the  shaft-house  mingled  with  the  sharper  barking  of  the 
locomotive's  exhaust  and  sent  a  broad  banner  of  white  drift- 
ing upward  and  vanishing  in  the  rare,  dry  air.  The  rays 
of  the  setting  sun  still  fell  in  a  flood  of  warm,  golden  light 
upon  the  lonely  rows  of  board  shanties  in  the  canyon  and 
softened  their  squalor  to  a  greater  semblance  of  comfort  and 
of  homes. 

And  now,  the  long-drawn  exhaust  of  the  slow  and  powerful 
hoisting  engine  added  its  deep  undertone  to  the  soft  medley 
of  sounds  that  rose  to  the  cliff  with  the  questioning  of  human 
voices,  as  the  word  went  happily  round  among  the  cabins 
that  the  hoisting  of  the  single  shift  had  begun,  in  the  depths. 
A  little  longer,  and  the  sun  sank  behind  the  topmost  crest, 
the  quick  dusk  settled  in  the  canyon,  the  heavy  laboring  of  the 
hoisting  engine  ceased,  and  all  was  silent  but  the  low  droning 
of  the  great  fan  above  the  air-shaft. 

From  the  shaft-house  a  cluster  of  little  flames  sprang  up 
cheerily  in  the  deepening  gloom  and  moved  away  in  wavering 
files  toward  the  cabins  lying  dimly  in  the  dusk.  Then  the 
deep  melodies  of  the  group  of  recently  transplanted  Missis- 
sippi negroes  broke  forth  in  resonant,  syncopated  minors 
that  told  of  homesick  longing,  and  high-keyed  treble  and 
thundering  bass  that  told  of  hope,  welling  up  to  the  cliff  like 
a  solemn  song  of  victory  deferred  but  sure : 

"Yas,  Lawd!     Yas,  Lawd! 
De  sun  am  ridin'  low  behin'  de  mou — un — t'in, 
De  pickaninnies  laughin'  roun'  de  doah, 
An'  all  de  niggahs  singin'  an'  a-cou — un — tin' 
De  minutes  till  we  gatha  on  de  floah. 

Foh  we  gwine  to  have  a  possum  ;  mebbe  taters  ;  mebbe  coon, 

[270] 


THE        FIRES        OF        SORROW 

An'  we  gwine  to  chune  de  banjo  an'  de  fiddle,  mighty  soon. 
Yas,  Lawd  —  Yas,  Lawd !     Yas,  Lawd  —  Yas,  Lawd ! 
De  moon  am  ridin'  high  above  de  mou — un — t'in." 

The  distant  cabins  took  it  up  and  shrilled  it  back  in  more 
plaintive  way,  until  the  great  gulch  pulsed  with  the  heart- 
throb of  humble  black  folk  cheering  themselves  against  lonely 
night  in  the  mountain  fastness,  far  from  their  "  Ole  Miss'sip." 

"  Yas,  Lawd !  Yas,  Lawd !  "  it  welled  up  faintly  and  yet 
more  faint,  until  the  cabin  doors  opened  and  swallowed  up 
darkly,  one  by  one,  the  yellow,  dancing  glows  of  light.  The 
men  were  safely  up,  and  Parry,  unconsciously,  sighed  with 
relief  at  the  thought. 

"  Come,  boys !  "  he  said,  and  picking  up  transit,  axe,  and 
rods,  they  turned,  hurrying,  down  the  rocky  trail  to  the  camp. 

"  Just  hand  in  the  bunch  of  old  tracings  that  you  spoke  of, 
when  you  come  from  the  tool-shack,  Barstow,"  said  Parry, 
as  he  was  entering  the  office  door.  "  Furbish  up  your  kit  a 
while  in  the  morning,  if  I  am  not  here,"  he  said,  a  little  later, 
as  Barstow  handed  in  a  dusty  and  tattered  roll  of  tracings. 
"  But  be  here  early.  I  shall  be  going  down  to  Villa  Rica 
to-night.  Good-night ! " 

"  Good-night,"  said  Barstow  and  Clymer,  and  Parry  was 
left  alone  with  his  haunting  doubt. 

When  the  drag  engine  came  back  cautiously  down  the 
grade  a  few  minutes  later,  with  its  loaded  coal  cars,  Parry 
stepped  out  with  steady  strides  from  the  office.  Tossing  a 
wrapped  bundle  into  the  gangway  of  the  engine,  he  climbed 
up  after  it,  and  with  a  brief  greeting  to  the  crew,  rode  silently 
over  the  six  miles  of  box-canyon  into  Villa  Rica. 

Daylight  was  breaking  over  the  rim  of  the  crater  at  Villa 
Rica  when  Stoner,  division  engineer,  and  Parry  finally  sat 

[271] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

staring  into  one  another's  haggard  faces.  Their  work  of 
scaling,  checking,  and  re-checking  the  legendary  old  draw- 
ings against  Parry's  carefully  wrought-out  new  ones  was 
finished. 

"  It 's  close,  Parry.  Deadly  close !  "  said  Stoner.  "  But, 
it  shows  a  hundred  feet  of  solid  coal  between  —  if  this  old 
drawing  is  true  to  their  workings." 

"  Yes,"  said  Parry  wearily.  "  If !  That  is  what  ruins 
men  of  our  craft,  sometimes,  Mr.  Stoner.  Isn't  it?  " 

"  Parry,"  Stoner  answered  slowly,  "  we  are  exactly  on  a  par 
with  the  train  crew  that  overlooks  an  order  but  misses  a 
collision  only  because  the  trains  happen  to  meet  in  the  open. 
By  a  chance,  by  mere  luck,  we  have  met  this  thing  in 
the  open,  but,  technically,  it  is  a  wreck  —  and  I  am  the 
conductor ! 

"  This  country  is  alive  with  mine  yarns ;  lost  mines,  aban- 
doned mines,  and  mines  that  never  existed.  I  heard  some- 
thing, long  ago,  of  old  workings  in  the  canyon  and  mentioned 
it  when  I  got  first  orders  to  take  on  the  work  of  opening 
the  new  shaft.  Headquarters  letters  say  the  old  diggings 
were  small  and  unimportant  and  now  comes  your  old  man 
Barstow,  with  a  set  of  deep-mine  drawings  which  he  pulls 
from  an  old  hip-boot  in  a  tool-shack ! 

"It's  nothing  short  of  —  well,  tough,"  declared  Stoner 
with  a  crash  of  his  massive  fist  upon  the  desk.  "  I  have  over- 
looked a  play  !  Parry,  I  have  too  cursed  much  to  do,  with  the 
heavy  power  coming  onto  my  weak  track  and  bridges.  My 
recommendation  was  to  make  the  mines  a  department  report- 
ing directly  to  the  chief  —  why,  Parry,  I  'm  yelping !  "  said 
the  great,  tired  fellow  with  his  customary  fighting  smile. 
"That  don't  help!  Now  let's  see.  What  does  that  last 
breast  show?  " 


THE        FIRES        OF        SORROW 

"  One  hundred  feet  upward  from  the  bottom  of  the  entry ; 
angle,  thirty  degrees  to  the  horizontal,"  replied  Parry,  as 
they  turned  again  to  the  drawings. 

"  That 's  it !  "  said  Stoner.  "  That 's  the  spot  that  hurts  ! 
But  it  will  hold  if  we  let  it  alone,  so  keep  them  all  out  of  there 
to-day ;  take  your  boys  down  and  check  up  your  base-lines 
and  breasts.  Verify  your  figures,  throughout.  There  will 
be  a  protest  from  headquarters  when  the  output  falls  off. 
We  will  meet  that  with  prints  from  these  old  and  new 
drawings. 

"  Got  out  on  the  main  line  without  orders  and  did  n't  *  hit 
them,'  eh,  Parry  ?  Well,  I  feel  bad  enough  about  it ;  bad  as 
you  do,  but  we  did  n't  '  hit  them  ' !  Come  over  to  breakfast 
with  me  and  I  '11  fix  to  send  you  out,  first  thing,  on  the  yard 
engine." 

And  so  it  was  arranged.  Shortly  after  the  shift  went  down 
the  shaft  for  another  day  below,  Parry,  Barstow,  and  Clymer 
were  lowered  with  the  instruments  and  started  plodding  away 
from  the  faint  light  of  breaking  day  above  them,  along  the 
deep  level  toward  the  distant,  threatening  breast  at  the  end 
of  the  drift. 

The  steam  pipes  from  the  upper  station  no  longer  snapped 
and  crackled  beside  them  and  only  the  great  intake  pipe  of 
the  deep  pump  trailed  on  ahead  of  them  to  the  sump.  The 
darkness  thickened  and  the  acrid  smell  of  lamp  smoke  grew 
heavier  as  they  advanced.  Their  footsteps  echoed  hollowly 
from  the  black  and  stagnant  pools  through  which  they  sloshed 
in  the  hollows  of  the  narrow  car  tracks  gleaming  dully  in 
the  dim,  flaring  light  of  their  lamps.  From  somewhere 
ahead  came  the  multiplied,  regular,  biting  ring  of  steel  on 
steel  as  the  drills  were  driven  in,  and  to  right  or  left  at 
intervals,  the  rich,  dark  breasts  led  steeply  up  into  the 
18  [  273  ] 


MARK      EN DERBY:      ENGINEER 

denser  blackness  ending  in  an  orange  glow  of  moving  lights 
where  the  men  were  toiling. 

From  behind  a  turn  in  the  rock  entry  came  the  rich  bellow- 
ing of  a  big  voice,  reminiscent  of  the  night  just  gone: 

"  Yas,  Lawd !     Yas,  Lawd !     De  moon  am  ridin'  high  — " 

"  Where  is  your  boss  ?  Where  is  Gallway  ?  "  asked  Parry, 
abruptly  halting  the  black  giant  who  rounded  the  turn  of 
the  rock  before  them. 

"  Dunno,  Boss.  Airlie  Washn'n,  he  done  smashed  he  foot, 
first  thing  this  mohnin',  an'  de  boss,  he  done  taken  him  up  lift 
to  he  cabin,  mebbe,"  the  negro  answered,  with  a  wide  and 
high-keyed  laugh.  "  Boss,  he  ain't  done  come  back  no  moh, 

yit." 

"  Clymer,  run  back  and  go  up  with  the  cage !  Find  Gall- 
way,  the  foreman.  Tell  him  I  want  him  here  at  once  1 " 
And  Clymer  ran. 

"  Did  Mr.  Gallway  tell  you  all  to  keep  out  of  Robson's 
breast  to-day  ?  "  Parry  asked  anxiously,  turning  again  to  the 
negro. 

"Yas,  Boss.  He  done  did.  Ah 'm  Robson,  an'  we  jes* 
done  packed  three  holes  that  we-all  drilled  yist'dy,  up  in  de 
peak,  an'  tha  's  all  we  gwine  shoot  up  thah  to-day.  You-all 
white  men  betteh  stay  right  heah,  Boss,  till  she  goes  !  They  's 
about  to  fiah !  " 

"  No !  "  shouted  Parry,  as  a  vision  of  the  sullen,  waiting 
water-fiend  above  them  passed  before  his  mind  in  an  instant 
review  of  the  old  drawings.  "  Stop  it !  Stop  it,  do  you 
hear?"  he  insisted,  clutching  at  the  bared  arm  of  the  man, 
who  stood  staring  in  stupid  wonder. 

"  Fiah  in  de  ga — ang-a-way !  "  rang  a  distant  voice,  and, 
instantty,  black  men  came  scurrying,  jostling,  laughing 

[274] 


THE        FIRES        OF        SORROW 

around  the  rough  projection  of  rocks  in  the  main  entry  and 
crouched,  waiting,  in  the  sheltered  places. 

"  Stop  it,  Robson !  "  again  cried  Parry,  starting  forward 
along  the  gangway.  His  voice  was  swept  away  with  a 
quivering  shock. 

"  Boom !  Boom ! !  Boom  ! ! !  "  came  the  dull  answer, 
crashing  and  echoing  in  quick  repetitions  from  the  blackness 
just  ahead  and  upward,  while  Parry  and  Barstow,  the  latter 
but  half  understanding  the  full  meaning  of  it  all,  were  swept 
unresistingly  into  the  nearest  breast  entry  by  the  heavy  arms 
of  Robson,  who  now  crouched  grinning  there  in  the  flaring 
light  of  the  lamps. 

Then,  suddenly,  there  rose,  shrill,  piercing,  agonizing, 
the  supreme  cry  of  a  man  in  mortal  terror,  and  a  babble  of 
voices  that  rang  for  a  moment  in  changing  shades  of  horror. 
It  ended  in  the  gurgling,  awful  sounds  of  men  throttled  to 
sudden  death  in  a  weight  of  rushing  waters,  and  a  current  of 
fetid  air  rushed  along  the  drift,  increasing  in  its  furious 
blast  until  it  sighed  and  moaned  past  the  low  arch  of  the 
breast  within  which  Parry  and  the  others  were  huddled. 

"  Up  the  breasts ! "  he  shouted.  "  Every  man  up  the 
breasts  for  his  life !  "  and,  even  as  they  turned  to  clamber 
up  the  steep  and  slippery  face  of  the  breast,  a  mine  car,  a 
tangled  mass  of  ;twisted  rails,  a  sodden  clutter  of  tumbling, 
wide-eyed,  clutching  men,  a  mule  struggling  feet  upward 
swept  past  the  low  breast  arch,  and  close  after  this  living 
catapult  —  a  part  of  it  —  came  a  black  and  stinking  flood, 
gorging  the  gangway,  leaping  in  a  torrent  through  the  arch 
of  the  breast,  and  tearing  savagely  at  their  slipping  feet  as 
they  struggled  upward. 

Shortly,  it  was  done  and  they  sat  high  up  in  the  darkness, 

[275] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

upon  a  narrow  level  in  the  blind  pocket  of  the  earth,  gasping 
with  the  pressure  of  air  about  them,  their  heads  ringing, 
lights  swept  out,  the  blackness  thick  and  damp  and  heavy  as 
a  sodden  pall.  No  one  spoke,  for  a  time.  The  mind  could 
not  grasp  it  just  yet.  Sight  was  gone,  senses  dulled,  and 
brains  throbbed,  to  each  man  according  to  his  capacity,  with 
a  supreme  sense  of  merely  having  been.  This  could  not  be  a 
thing  in  life !  And  then  a  negro  moaned  and  struck  a  match  ! 

Parry  and  Barstow  faced  one  another  dumbly  for  a  mo- 
ment, in  the  dull  light  that  then  flared  from  the  man's  lamp. 
"  Seven !  "  said  Parry,  at  last,  when  he  had  looked  round 
upon  the  wide,  white  eyes  and  terror-stricken  faces,  making 
quick  and  careful  count  of  the  cowering  group. 

Fifty  feet  down  the  steep  face  of  the  breast,  the  black, 
festering  waters  were  now  quietly  stirring,  swelling,  receding 
in  soft  settling  calm,  as  of  a  foe  that,  having  no  further  need 
for  haste,  will  bide  his  time.  The  entrance  was  sealed  deep 
down  below  that  softly  stirring  flood. 

"  Five  —  and  us  !  "  responded  Barstow,  in  brief  accord, 
and  spat  abstractedly  at  the  swelling  gleams  below. 

"  Put  it  out !  Don't  burn  this  air ! "  Parry  commanded 
the  man  with  the  light,  and  the  man,  hugging  closer  a  bat- 
tered and  dripping  dinner-pail  which  he  held,  laughed  hys- 
terically and  blew  the  light  out. 

"  Ah  want  mah  dinnah-pail !  Tha  's  mine !  "  wailed  a  voice 
in  the  heavy  air.  Yet,  in  the  voice  was  the  latent  note  of 
menace  not  yet  free  of  fright. 

"  I  '11  keep  it  for  you !  Hand  it  over,  man  with  the 
lamp ! "  Parry's  voice  rang  out  quickly,  and  the  man  came 
shuffling  toward  him  in  the  blackness.  "  And  the  lamp ! " 
said  Parry. 

[276] 


THE        FIRES        OF        SORROW 

The  man  delivered  them  without  a  protest  and  shambled 
away  to  the  others.  Thus,  establishing  the  supremacy 
which,  later,  was  so  vital  they  sat  them  down  to  wait,  with  the 
white  men  in  command. 

High  above,  in  the  sunshine,  the  solemn  word  had  gone 
forth  swiftly  on  the  heels  of  Clymer.  The  negroes  had  sud- 
denly changed  their  morning  chant  of  joy  in  life  to  a  moan- 
ing, shrilling  plaint  of  woe.  The  sun  peering  brightly  over 
the  eastern  crest,  lighted  the  canyon  gayly  as  for  a  winter 
fiesta,  tipped  the  snow-clad  ridges  and  gables  of  the  squalid 
cabins  with  brilliant,  glinting  spears  of  white  and  mocked  the 
terror-stricken  stragglers  in  their  weeping  flight  to  the  shaft- 
house.  Clymer,  after  one  despairing  look  at  the  unfinished 
telephone  line,  just  making  its  way  into  Harmony  camp,  had 
unhooked  a  mule  from  the  dump,  and  was  galloping  down 
the  canyon  toward  Villa  Rica  and  Stoner,  while  the  ventila- 
ting fan  droned  futilely  on  and  the  big  pumps,  urged  to 
sudden  haste,  were  bellowing  and  vomiting  forth  their  double 
burden  of  blackened  waters. 

Twice,  Gallway  went  down  with  the  cage  and  a  man  or 
two  who  had  remained  above ;  walked  the  short  descending 
slope  of  the  main  gangway  to  where  the  sullen  water  barred 
the  further  advance  and  swelled  and  lapped  gently  at  its 
victims  lying  there  face-downward,  bedraggled  and  still. 
Twice,  he  came  up  with  the  cage  and  its  silent  burden. 
Twice,  the  agonized  wailing  of  them  that  cowered  round 
the  shaft-house  rose  to  a  shriller  note  of  woe  as  the  cage 
gave  up  its  load,  and  then  they  in  the  sunshine  above  could 
only  wait  the  pleasure  of  the  waters  and  the  pumps,  even  as 
the  prisoned  ones  in  the  cold  darkness  below. 

Presently,  the   morning  gathering  at  the  tank  bench  in 

[277] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

Villa  Rica  was  abruptly  broken  up  by  the  passing  of  the 
fleeing  mule,  and  soon  afterward  Stoner  was  listening,  in 
tense  silence,  to  the  breathless  tale  of  Clymer. 

Stoner  was  a  man  of  action.     To  Clymer,  he  said: 

"  Ride  back  and  do  what  you  can  for  Gallway !  Tell  him 
we  are  coming  with  help ! " 

To  Dinwiddy,  the  master  mechanic,  he  said : 

"  Give  me  an  engine  and  crew,  and  twelve  men  from  the 
shops  who  can  rig  a  pump  and  fittings  —  rig  them  to  the 
bottomless  pit,  if  need  be !  Men,  Dinwiddy !  You  know 
the  kind! 

"  Load  a  car  of  pipe  to  suit  and  cut  out  that  car  from 
the  west-bound  local  that 's  carrying  the  big  pump  and  fit- 
tings. We  will  run  them  all  up  the  canyon  with  that  engine 
standing  at  the  coal  chutes !  I  'm  getting  orders  from  Bal- 
ceta  to  cover  this  levy.  Can  you  come  along,  Dinwiddy?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Dinwiddy.  And  then :  "  Enderby ! 
McPeltrie !  it 's  your  engine  \  Take  us  up.  You  can  run 
back  in  time  for  your  regular  trip.  It  will  count  an  extra 
trip's  pay  for  you." 

"  I  want  no  pay  for  this ! "  said  Enderby,  turning  at  once 
toward  the  engine. 

"  Nor  me !  "  said  McPeltrie,  following  him. 

"  I  should  have  known  that  —  did  know  it,"  replied  Din- 
widdy in  quick  accord. 

Soon,  the  metallic  clangor  of  rapidly  loading  pipe  ceased 
at  the  shops,  the  yard  engine  shunted  the  car  of  men  and 
materials  down  against  the  diverted  car  of  pump  and  fit- 
tings, and,  coupled  to  the  conscripted  road  engine,  the  little 
train  steamed  away  up  the  canyon,  as  Stoner  and  Waverly, 
the  conductor  hastily  drafted,  ran  out  from  the  despatcher's 

[278] 


THE        FIRES        OF        SORROW 

office  and  climbed  aboard  the  engine  with  the  promised  orders. 
Dinwiddy  waved  a  silent  farewell  in  response  to  the  wavering 
cluster  of  hands  that  rose  for  a  moment  at  the  roundhouse 
door,  then  he  turned  to  the  machinists  upon  the  car,  to  map 
out  with  them  in  low-voiced  earnestness  the  campaign  at 
hand,  against  the  water  of  the  mine. 

In  the  day  and  night  that  followed,  Mrs.  Enderby  and 
Ruth  were  Mrs.  Parry's  tireless  comforters  in  Villa  Rica, 
while,  at  the  mine,  Dinwiddy  and  his  "  boys  "  did  deeds  of 
valor  and  endurance  worthy  of  any  field  of  glory.  When 
another  sun  arose  above  the  mountain,  the  new  pump  was 
coupled  in  and  adding  its  sharp,  quick  barking  to  the  slower 
pulsing  of  the  older  pumps.  The  black  current  that  hurried 
gurgling  down  the  canyon  was  doubled  in  its  flow,  and  yet 
Stoner  and  Gallway,  anxiously  marking  the  slow  recession  of 
the  water  in  the  slight  slope  from  the  bottom  of  the  shaft, 
could  only  say  to  those  waiting  above : 

"Pump!     Wait!" 

A  day,  another,  four  days  went  by,  and  still  their  shout- 
ing advances  from  the  bottom  of  the  shaft  to  where  the  water 
in  the  slope  wedged  them  against  the  roof-rock  brought  no 
answering  call  from  the  men  hemmed  in  below.  The  little 
group,  securely  sealed  high  in  the  blackness,  gave  no  sign 
or  sound  of  life,  but  grimly  they  were  waiting  there,  counting 
the  slowly  receding  inches  of  water  at  the  foot  of  the  breast, 
searching  the  rock  for  a  thinness,  listening  to  the  dull  shock 
of  the  pumps  in  the  water,  and  holding  to  the  waning  spark 
of  life  as  best  they  might. 

For  those  four  days,  Parry  had  parcelled  out  a  few  crumbs 
of  corn  bread  and  a  shred  of  stale  meat  from  the  lone  dinner- 
pail,  apportioning  impartially  his  measure  to  each,  and  each 

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MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

time  Barstow  had  swallowed  but  a  scant  fragment  and  passed 
his  portion  back  to  Parry  as  the  brief  light  was  extinguished, 
mumbling : 

"  You-all  jest  eat  that,  Mr.  Parry.  'T  ain't  like  as  if  you 
was  chewin'  your  tobacco  regular,  like  me ! " 

And  Parry,  protesting,  had  quietly  returned  the  food  to 
the  pail  each  time  in  the  darkness  and,  next  day,  portioned 
it  out  again  with  the  fast  waning  store. 

Now  all  food  was  gone  and  they  had  drunk  from  the 
drip  of  the  rocks  and  huddled  down  again  in  hunger,  and 
cold  too  painful  for  sleep,  until  the  lines  of  white  and  black, 
of  master  and  man,  were  strained  to  breaking,  and  half- 
delirious  mutterings  came  constantly  from  the  darker  group, 
which  still  instinctively  separated  itself  a  space  from  Parry 
and  Barstow.  The  bare  question  of  survival  was  coming 
more  strongly  uppermost  and  pressing  for  an  answer. 

At  last,  it  broke  forth  in  an  agonized  cry  of  rage  and 
suffering  and  Parry  knew  that  the  crisis  had  come ! 

"  Whah  f  oh  white  men  mek  us  colo'ed  people  come  in 
heah?  Whah  foh  mah  dinnah-pail  gone?  Ah  want  mah 
pail !  "  shouted  a  voice  strong  in  the  fever  of  hunger. 

"  Ah  want  mah  lamp ! "  bellowed  another  in  the  close  si- 
lence. "Whah  foh  we  set  in  de  dahk?  Ah 'm  a-chillin', 
Ah  am !  Ah  want  mah  lamp  !  " 

"  Seh  down,  yo'  blue-gum  niggahs ! "  roared  the  voice  of 
Robson,  and  the  hissing  shuffle  of  damp  clothing  in  the 
darkness  told  of  his  painful  rise  to  his  feet  between  the  two 
groups. 

"  Seh  down !  Lay  down  !  "  commanded  Robson  valiantly, 
but  a  quaver  of  hunger-smitten  weakness  trembled  in  his 
voice,  and  Barstow,  catching  the  half-note  of  fear,  also 
labored  heavily  to  his  feet.  Stepping  before  the  niche  in 

[280] 


THE        FIRES        OF        SORROW 

which  Parry  sat  braced  against  the  rock,  Barstow  silently 
unslung  the  hand-axe  from  his  belt,  snapped  its  folding 
handle  into  place,  and  waited. 

"Haw,  yo'  Robson !  "  jeered  the  first  speaker.  "  Whah 
foh  yo'  tip  yoh  hat  dese  white  men,  yist'dy?  This  heah 
ain't  down  souf!" 

"  Ah  jus'  could  n't  hep  it,"  replied  Robson.     "  Seh  down !  " 

"  This  heah  's  free  out  heah  !  Black  man  's  good  as  white  ! 
Gi  'm  mah  pail ! "  the  other  insisted,  as  the  stirring  rustle 
increased. 

"  Lay  down ! "  commanded  Robson,  and  his  voice  broke 
with  the  sound  of  a  dull  impact. 

The  sickening  thud  of  naked  flesh  upon  flesh,  the  swirling 
and  scuffling  of  bodies,  and  the  snarling  yelps  of  men  hard 
hit  told  that  the  battle  was  fully  on,  and  the  thick  air  stirred 
and  reeked  with  the  struggle. 

"  Stop  it ! "  shouted  Parry  weakly  struggling  to  his  feet, 

He  lighted  the  lamp  and  in  the  dim  light  saw  Robson 
downed  and  battling  in  a  tangle  of  three  others.  Then,  over 
the  writhing  mass  of  them,  the  claimant  of  the  pail  leaped 
toward  the  light,  with  arm  upraised  to  strike ! 

Barstow  struck  him  full  in  the  chest  with  the  flat  of  the 
axe,  but  failed  to  stay  his  coming.  The  man's  big  fist 
grazed  Parry's  head  and  crunched  dully  against  the  rock, 
while  Barstow,  striking  again,  in  his  weakness,  missed,  reeled, 
and  fell  headlong  down  the  glistening  incline  of  the  breast 
and  sank  in  a  wide  wash  of  the  foul  waters  at  its  foot. 

Turning  with  a  howl  of  rage  and  pain,  the  negro  stood 
staring  into  the  black  waters  below  and,  in  that  instant,  Parry 
struck  him  down,  senseless,  upon  the  weltering  heap  of  men 
upon  the  ledge. 

"  Stop  it,  men ! "  Parry  commanded  again,  and  the  diver- 

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MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

sion  of  Barstow's  sudden  going,  with  the  falling  of  the 
senseless  one  in  their  midst,  made  the  order  hold. 

They  dragged  the  fallen  one  aside  and,  with  many  pain- 
ful flounderings,  Robson  led  the  others  down  the  slippery 
way  to  the  rescue  of  Barstow.  When  they  had  dragged 
him  out  half  senseless,  Robson  drove  them  with  their  burden, 
gasping,  up  to  the  ledge  again.  With  the  light  out,  they 
all  sank  down  again  to  wait. 

The  week  dragged  through  its  remaining,  endless  hours, 
with  the  pumps  working  double  and  Stoner,  Gallway,  and  Cly- 
mer  probing,  testing,  feeling  their  perilous  way  in  the  thick 
air  and  the  softened  workings,  while  those  in  the  blind  pocket 
could  only  drowse  and  turn,  moaning,  and  drowse  again. 
But  the  waters  were  sinking,  and  when  at  last  the  raft  bear- 
ing the  rescuers  was  forced  close  above  the  arch  of  the 
imprisoning  breast  Gallway  scanned  the  wall  as  one  might 
search  the  face  of  a  deadly  enemy,  and  said: 

"  It 's  here,  Mr.  Stoner,  that  the  boy  says  they  stood  when 
he  ran  back.  I  reason  that  they  got  no  farther  into  the 
mine  and  if  they  are  here  it 's  to  be  quick  work  if  we  help 
them  at  this  late  day.  I  can  break  an  opening  in  a  quarter- 
hour,"  he  said,  thrusting  a  barbed  drill  against  the  softened 
face,  "  but,  if  they  still  live,  a  minute  may  be  a  life  to  them 
now !  I  '11  dive  for  it ! "  he  finished  quickly,  dropping  the 
drill  and  reaching  for  a  canteen  of  broth. 

"I'll  go!"  spoke  Clymer,  shedding  jacket  and  boots. 

"  Not  you  !  "  said  Gallway.  "  You  are  a  good  lad,  but  it 's 
man's  work.  Stand  by  to  hold  the  raft  against  the  back 
wall !  " 

"  Steady,  Gallway ! "  admonished  Stoner,  who  had  rap- 
idly measured  Clymer's  wiry  young  body  at  a  glance.  "  Run 
a  line  under  his  arms,  give  him  the  broth  canteen,  and  let 
him  try.  A  minute  will  tell  and  you  will  be  needed  here." 


THE        FIRES        OF        SORROW 

It  was  quickly  arranged,  and  when  Clymer  had  buttoned 
the  canteen  of  weak  broth  securely  within  his  blouse  and 
received  a  simple  code  of  rope  signals,  with  Gallway's  exact 
description  of  the  arch  of  the  breast  entrance,  they  bal- 
anced the  raft  against  Clymer's  coming  plunge,  and  he 
stepped  to  its  edge. 

"  I  know  how  it  looks  down  there,"  he  said.  "  Good-bye !  " 
and  dived  deep  into  the  oily  waters. 

The  line  ran  swiftly  out  from  the  coil  upon  the  raft, 
tightened,  swayed,  slackened,  and  hung  limply  in  the  water, 
while  Stoner  and  Gallway  breathed  short  and  hard,  gazing 
at  the  spot  where  Clymer  sank.  Then  the  line  ran  tense 
again,  and  Stoner  saw  Gallway's  hands  yield  forward  to  the 
stress  of  three  steady  pulls  from  below. 

"  He  is  in ! "  said  Gallway,  with  an  answering  draw  upon 
the  line.  But,  it  straightened  hard  and  fast  in  his  grasp 
and  no  further  signal  came  from  within  the  breast. 

Clymer,  thrusting  aside  the  chilly,  yielding  things  that 
floated  upon  the  still  pool  within,  was  breathing  the  deadly 
air  of  a  charnel-house  in  which  there  was  no  sound  but  the 
lapping  of  the  waters  stirred  by  his  coming.  With  a  few 
strong  strokes,  he  had  gained  the  foot  of  the  incline,  and 
lay  there  calling  upward  into  the  darkness  as  he  clutched  the 
rock: 

"  Mr.  Parry !  Barstow ! "  he  called  without  answer. 
"  Robson ! "  he  shouted  desperately,  and  from  above  the  voice 
of  Robson  answered  thickly : 

"  Yas,  Lawd !  "  it  muttered  and  ended  in  a  moan. 

Struggling  out  upon  the  face  of  the  breast,  Clymer  threw 
himself  free  of  the  line,  fastened  it  to  the  rock,  and 
slipping  the  seal  from  his  midget  flash-lamp,  followed  its 
dancing  ray  quickly,  to  the  ledge  at  the  top  of  the  breast. 
Fearing  to  fan  too  strongly  the  feeble  sparks  of  life  that 

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MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

hovered  in  Parry's  poor,  quiet  company,  he  silently  lifted 
the  lolling  heads  and  moistened  the  swollen  throats  from  the 
canteen  until  all  had  proven  their  slender  hold  of  life.  Then, 
kneeling  close  beside  Parry,  he  chafed  and  coaxed  him  back 
to  consciousness,  saying  over  and  over  again: 

"  Come,  Parry,  come !     We  're  going  home.     Home !  " 

When  Parry  understood  it  in  some  measure  Clymer  thrust 
the  canteen  into  his  hand  and  dinned  into  his  dull  ear: 

"  Only  a  little  of  this,  Parry !  Only  a  little,  and  wait ! 
We  're  going  home ! " 

Then  he  scrambled  down  the  breast,  fastened  the  line  about 
him,  and  as  Gallway,  stripping  off  his  boots  upon  the  raft, 
was  poising  for  a  dive  to  break  the  unbearable  suspense, 
Stoner  felt  two  strong  pulls  upon  the  line  and  cried : 

"  Hold,  Gallway  !     He  is  coming  out !  " 

"  Seven !  All  living !  But,  hurry !  Hurry !  Break 
down  the  arch ! "  gasped  Clymer,  as  his  face  came  above  the 
water  in  the  gangway  a  few  moments  later. 

In  that  way  it  came  about  that,  on  that  seventh  day,  the 
long-sealed  breast  sighed  foully  into  the  open  air  of  the 
gangway,  the  slender  raft  of  mine  timbers  began  its  sev- 
eral sorry  ferryings  along  the  slope,  and  the  cage  came 
up  with  its  only  living  salvage  from  the  flood,  as  the  sun  was 
riding  low  behind  the  mountain.  That  evening,  Enderby 
dropped  his  engine  and  a  coach  attached  slowly  down  the 
canyon,  bearing  John  Parry  and  his  wife  upon  the  second 
of  their  eventful  journeyings  with  Enderby.  There  were 
others  in  that  coach,  as  stricken  as  they,  but  Enderby's  mind 
was  leaping  the  far  gap  to  that  other,  fairer  day,  and  he 
thought  chiefly  of  Parry,  as  the  engine  felt  its  way  carefully 
down  to  Villa  Rica. 

The  snows  were  gone  and  a  softer  light  was  upon  the 


THE        FIRES        OF        SORROW 

high  country,  when  Parry  first  ventured  up  the  canyon 
again,  on  parole  from  Villa  Rica  hospital.  The  pumps, 
meanwhile,  had  mastered  their  work,  and  brattice  and  props 
were  fast  replacing  the  crumbled  workings  in  the  mine. 
Soon,  he  would  take  up  the  charge  again  and  the  cutting  of 
the  black  rock  would  resume. 

Looking  up  to  the  lip  of  the  cliff  above  the  canyon,  an 
involuntary  shudder  swept  his  weakened  body  as  his  eyes 
fell  upon  a  blanketed  and  hooded  figure  that  sat  high  in 
the  enticing  sunlight.  Now  and  then,  it  stirred  restlessly, 
as  though  looking  in  terror  upon  the  scene  below,  but  ven- 
tured upon  no  nearer  approach. 

Yielding  to  an  impulse,  Parry  began  laboring  slowly  up- 
ward toward  the  lonely  figure  upon  the  cliff.  Sinking  down 
weakly  at  last,  upon  the  gnarled  cedar  root,  he  sat  beside  the 
man  in  silence  for  a  time.  Presently  he  asked : 

"  How  were  you  able  to  say,  Camargo,  that  the  great  trou- 
ble was  so  near  at  hand?  " 

Camargo,  huddling  deeper  in  his  blanket,  answered: 

"  My  father  was  a  dreamer  of  dreams.  I  am  his  son ! 
Upon  this  crag  many  voices  have  spoken !  I  am  an  old  man. 
Yes,  very  old! 

"  Go  no  more  into  The  Fires  of  Sorrow,  senor.  The  gods 
will  destroy ! " 

Such  is  the  perverseness  and  persistency  of  the  white  man, 
however,  that  Parry,  grown  stronger,  went  again  into  the 
depths,  and  penetrating  the  older  mine  that  had  done  its 
worst,  found  the  wasted  shapes  of  Camargo's  poor  people 
mouldering  there ;  found,  also,  the  richest  workings  of  them 
all.  Therefore,  Stoner  was  called  upon  no  further  to  ex- 
plain output  decreased,  or  disaster  invited. 

[285] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
A  MODERN  MAZEPPA 

T 1 1HE  balance  of  railroad  power  and  importance  had 
A  rested  quite  evenly  between  Villa  Rica  and  Alta  Vista, 
while  for  several  years  they  had  been  regarded  as  rival 
division  points,  in  a  friendly  sort  of  way.  But  the  great 
railroad  machine  for  the  making  of  transportation  was  grow- 
ing more  complex  in  its  construction,  more  insistent  in  its 
requirements,  and  a  closer  centralization  was  becoming 
necessary. 

With  the  coming  of  still  heavier  engines  and  rolling-stock, 
and  the  establishment  of  Flyers,  the  balance  of  power  defi- 
nitely settled  upon  Alta  Vista.  With  it  went  Bunnel,  Din- 
widdy,  Enderby,  Dodson,  McPeltrie,  and  many  others  from 
Villa  Rica,  to  re-locate  in  Alta  Vista.  It  was  really  a  sort 
of  home-coming  to  some  of  them  who  had  known  the  latter 
place  as  home  for  many  years  after  it  had  been  dropped 
there  in  the  high  barrens  like  a  bit  of  beautiful,  dull  mosaic 
on  the  march  of  the  railroad  through  the  mountains. 

Doc.  Maxon,  however,  called  it  "  the  year  of  the  Hegira," 
as  he  jovially  welcomed  them  all  to  Alta  Vista,  and  Abe 
Hazard  liked  the  gritty  sound  of  it  so  well  that,  without 
stopping  to  inquire  too  far  into  the  exact  application  of  the 
term,  he  named  his  infant  daughter,  who  was  born  upon  the 
day  of  the  numerous  arrivals,  "  Hegira  Maxon  Hazard." 
Which,  if  it  did  not,  later,  prove  a  heritage  of  joy  to  the  very 
young  lady,  was  a  source  of  instant  pride  to  Maxon. 

[286] 


A         MODERN         MAZEPPA 

The  considerable  stir  of  the  important  changes  had  sub- 
sided into  the  town's  regular  life  and  Dinwiddy  and  Enderby 
had  resumed  their  friendly  habit  of  dropping  into  the 
despatcher's  office  of  an  evening,  when  nothing  seemed  to  for- 
bid. An  evening  in  June  found  them  there,  sitting,  smok- 
ing, upon  the  opposite  corners  of  the  only  unoccupied  table, 
listening,  meanwhile,  to  the  insistent  clamor  of  the  sounders, 
which  neither  of  them  understood. 

The  none  too  brilliant  oil  lights  shone  yellowly  under  a 
level  stratum  of  tobacco  smoke  that  hung  above  the  heads 
of  Bunnel  and  his  corps  of  operators,  while  they  labored 
tensely  over  instrument,  book,  and  train-sheet.  Outside, 
the  summer  rain  swept  in  pulsing  gusts  around  the  low  upper 
story,  drenching  the  windows  with  fitful  floods,  through 
which  Bunnel's  lights  glowed  bravely  but  made  little  im- 
press upon  the  blackness  of  the  night. 

On  the  train-sheet,  several  columns  of  train-records  were 
creeping  up  steadily,  and  others,  as  steadily  were  creeping 
down.  Some  of  these  columns  had,  even  then,  met  in  paral- 
lel, and,  overlapping  each  other,  showed  that,  for  them,  all 
was  going  well.  Waverly,  with  Muller  and  Johnson, 
double-heading,  was  lagging  some,  it  is  true.  There  was  too, 
a  little  snarl  at  Jupiter,  but  that  was  solving  itself  in  a 
saw-by.  Bunnel  and  his  aides  were,  taking  it  all  in  all, 
feeling  the  quiet  but  intense  joy  of  their  craft,  and  except 
for  an  occasional  muttered  exclamation,  the  room  was  empty 
of  speech.  Still,  the  proper  moment  of  relaxation,  which 
seemed  near,  had  not  yet  arrived,  and  they  hung  closely  above 
their  work.  Then,  the  clatter  of  the  sounders  wholly  ceased 
for  a  few  moments,  and  in  that  silence,  Dinwiddy,  who  had 
grown  restive,  spoke: 

"  Come  away,  Pap,"  said  he,  grasping  Enderby's  arm. 

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MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

"  This  is  the  only  place  on  a  railroad  that  makes  a  motive- 
power  man  look  like  a  rank  fakir ! 

"  One  of  these  fellows  says  '  Keno ! '  and  another  says 
*  Scat ! '  and  nobody  knows  what  they  are  talking  about  but 
themselves.  Come  on  over  to  the  roundhouse  a  while,  where 
they  talk  our  language." 

Two  or  three  matches  snapped  in  concert  and  as  many 
operators  faced  about,  laughingly,  while  they  relighted  their 
neglected  pipes  and  chorused :  "  Stay !  We  are  on  velvet, 
now ! " 

A  slow  smile  was  just  replacing  the  intent  look  that  had 
set  upon  Bunnel's  face  until  he  turned  to  nod  his  approval 
of  the  general  invitation.  At  that  moment,  a  renewed  clatter 
broke  from  the  wire,  and  lifting  his  hand  swiftly  for  atten- 
tion, his  voice  ringing  out  in  the  sense  of  habitual  authority, 
he  spoke  the  word  that  was  balancing  upon  his  tongue,  in  a 
way  quite  different  from  its  first  intent. 

"  Stay ! "  he  commanded,  and  hung  low  and  intently  above 
the  instruments. 

With  tightening  pulses,  Enderby  and  Dinwiddy  settled 
back  upon  the  vacant  table.  The  operators  tossed  aside  the 
still-flaming  matches  with  their  relighted  pipes  and  listened 
to  the  cramped  and  fitful  story  the  wire  was  telling. 

It  was  seconds  only,  but  an  age  of  them  to  those  who 
waited,  before  Bunnel  spoke: 

"  Quick,  Dinwiddy !  Muller  's  in  a  mix-up  in  Saddler 
Canyon.  Somebody  —  *  Red  Jones,'  he  signed  —  cut  in 
with  a  relay  there,  but  he  broke  and  has  quit  sending.  Call 
the  wreck-crew  with  your  roundhouse  whistle  and  let  Enderby 
run  them  down.  I  '11  give  you  orders  in  five  minutes,  and  a 
clear  line  to  Jupiter !  " 

The  big  roundhouse  whistle  bellowed  hoarsely  into  the 

[288] 


A         MODERN         MAZEPPA 

night  and  shadowy  figures  came  running  from  home,  from 
night  task,  and  from  the  various  relaxations  of  the  town, 
donning  storm  coats  as  they  ran.  Ten  minutes  later,  the 
short,  sinister  train  with  its  looming  derrick  and  square- 
jawed,  clear-eyed  crew  of  veterans  was  curving  and  swinging 
out  of  the  yards  in  the  wake  of  Enderby's  engine  lights,  while 
McPeltrie,  coaxing  the  fire  to  a  fiercer  whiteness,  had  not,  as 
yet,  received  a  satisfactory  reply  to  his  hurried  question  at 
starting:  "  What  'a  it  all  about,  Pap?  " 

It  was  many  days  indeed,  before  that  question  was  fully 
answered,  and  of  the  many  answers  perhaps  Muller's  own 
answer  to  Doc.  Maxon  was  most  complete  when,  finally,  he 
gave  it.  Muller  moved  down  off  the  mountain  when  he  got 
out  of  the  hospital,  and  began  his  recuperation  in  Sad- 
dler River  Valley,  where  he  and  Jim  Dodson  had  long  main- 
tained, side  by  side,  a  modest  summer  cottage  apiece,  within 
sound  of  the  river's  peaceful  flowing.  He  had  been  dis- 
charged from  the  service,  but  aside  from  that  he  could  not 
then  endure  the  effect  of  altitude  at  Alta  Vista. 

Dan  Muller,  in  many  ways,  filled  the  large  measure  of  a 
man.  He  was  one  of  many  technically  educated  men  who 
dare,  early,  to  clip  the  wings  of  a  too  lofty  ambition  and 
thereby  run  a  chosen  course  of  usefulness  within  the  hon- 
orable middle-ground  of  success.  He  had  done  this,  knowing 
that,  while  there  may  always  be  room  at  the  proverbial  and 
elusive  top,  it  is  always  deadly  cold  and,  sometimes,  very 
lonely  there,  if  the  top  is  of  very  great  height. 

Therefore,  he  had  clung  to  his  engine-running,  for  the  love 
of  it,  and  when  he  made  his  one  fatal  error,  the  hearts  of  Alta 
Vista  folks  who  fully  understood  followed  him  achingly  into 
his  banishment.  They  had  threshed  it  out  among  themselves, 
in  surmise  and  argument,  but  Muller,  who  alone  knew  the 
19  [  289  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

whole  of  it,  had  spoken  little,  even  at  the  hearing  which  ended 
in  his  discharge.  One  thing  was  patent  to  them  all:  The 
same  thing  might  have  fallen  upon  any  one  of  them,  under 
similar  circumstances,  and,  knowing  Muller,  they  knew  that 
he  was  suffering  beyond  his  deserts. 

Enderby,  searching  his  soul  for  a  way  to  hasten  Muller's 
healing,  met  Doc.  Maxon  at  the  drug-store  corner  one  morn- 
ing, just  after  Dodson's  report  from  Muller's  home  was  dark- 
est. Then,  Enderby  had  a  sure  and  clear  inspiration. 

"  Maxon,"  said  he,  "  when  did  you  see  Muller?  " 

"  Been  weeks  since  I  saw  him,"  replied  Maxon  briefly. 
"  Nothing  much  there  for  me  to  do,  now.  Time,  time,  En- 
derby, for  a  hurt  like  that.  He  won't  talk.  I  tried  that." 

"That's  it!"  said  Enderby  eagerly.  "You've  said  it, 
Doc.,  but  he  's  got  to  talk !  That 's  what  I  want  to  say  to 
you.  I  want  you  to  get  on  my  train  this  morning  and  go 
down  there  to  see  him.  Make  him  talk.  Lead  him  to  it. 
Take  him  back  to  the  school  days,  if  you  must  —  you  were 
college  mates,  he  told  me  one  day  —  and  lead  him  to  it.  Get 
it  out  of  him,  or  he  '11  die  there  fighting  it  out  with  himself. 

"  He  's  trying  to  purge  himself  of  the  blood  of  Waverly, 
near  as  I  can  make  out  from  the  little  that  Dodson  says, 
whereas,  all  the  time,  that  big  soul  of  his  is  as  clean  as  —  as 
soap,  by  mighty !  "  declared  Enderby,  tumbling  precipitately 
from  his  flight  in  search  of  something  that  might  aptly  fill,  to 
running  over,  the  measure  of  his  respect  for  Muller. 

Maxon  went,  and  that  evening  he  sat  with  Muller  and 
the  latter's  wife  at  the  cottage,  in  the  soft  dusk  of  the  valley. 
The  little  Saddler  River  purled  down  musically  out  of  the  can- 
yon, and  fire-flies  flitted  among  the  blueflags,  flashing  endless 
messages  in  their  brilliant  code.  A  whip-poor-will  called  pa- 
tiently from  the  shadowy  grove  beyond  the  stream,  and 

[290] 


A         MODERN         MAZEPPA 

crickets  in  the  dew-laden  grass  chirped  "  Peace,  peace, 
peace."  Now  and  then,  a  breath  came  up  from  the  meadow 
and  softly  rustled  the  branches  of  a  big  sweetbrier  against 
the  lattice  of  the  veranda,  and  wafted  the  insistent  spicy 
odor  of  its  pink  blooms  upon  them.  Under  Maxon's  careful 
leading,  they  had  been  speaking  of  courage. 

"  Men  may  go  down  to  death  rejoicing,"  said  Muller, 
"  where  there  is  the  stimulus  of  effort,  and  a  chance  to  live. 
They  may  do  it,  but  it  does  not  accord  with  my  observation 
of  normal  men,  when  pitted  against  a  certainty.  When  a 
man  is  fast,  with  death  closing  in  upon  him;  or  when  he  is 
being  hurled  helplessly  to  meet  death's  rushing  advance,  the 
animal  courage  of  him  is  likely  to  ebb  away,  just  as  it  de- 
serts a  trapped  animal  at  the  last,  and  he  is  apt  to  sink  to 
his  fate  dully,  as  the  animal  lowers  its  head  and  meekly  re- 
ceives the  cudgel  or  the  axe. 

"  Would  you  care  if  we  sat  at  the  upper  end  of  the  ve- 
randa? The  wild  rose  odor  overcomes  me,  at  times,  since  the 
night  in  Saddler  Canyon.  And  yet,  I  cannot  decide  to  re- 
move the  bush.  It  fascinates  me  like  the  beauty  of  a  rattle- 
snake." 

They  grouped  themselves  to  windward  of  the  rose  bush. 
When  they  were  again  seated,  Muller's  wife  lifted  his  twisted 
and  helpless  left  hand  and  pressed  it  silently  to  her  soft 
cheek,  then  clasped  its  unnaturally  smooth  surface  in  her  own 
firm  hands  and  dropped  them  gently  to  her  lap.  She  gazed, 
for  a  moment,  into  his  seared,  sad  face,  and  then,  with  ab- 
stracted and  sorrowful  eyes,  out  into  the  peaceful  night. 

"  Muller,"  said  Maxon,  when  it  became  apparent  that  both 
of  them  were  brooding  ruinously,  "  could  you  tell  me  of  that 
night?  It  helps  matters  sometimes,  just  in  the  telling." 

Just  then  Dan,  their  little  son,  a  small  replica  of  the  hand- 

[291] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

some  thoroughbred  that  Muller  once  was,  came  charging 
through  the  wide  hall,  with  a  burst  of  joyous  laughter.  He 
was  in  full  pursuit  of  a  black  kitten,  which  he  treed  and  cap- 
tured, in  noisy  victory,  upon  the  sweetbrier  bush.  As  he 
romped  to  his  father's  knee  with  the  captive,  Muller  ran  his 
good  hand  caressingly  through  the  boy's  hair  and  said: 
"  We  think  this  is  the  greatest  help  we  have  now,  Doctor,  but 
maybe  you  are  right. 

"  Danny,  would  you  like  to  play  over  at  Willie  Dodson's 
for  half  an  hour?  Very  well.  Go,  but  do  not  stay  longer 
than  that." 

"  Good-bye,  son,"  said  his  mother. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  chirruped  in  reply. 

When  the  little  fellow  had  flitted  across  the  lawn  and  sounds 
of  childish  glee  came  back  with  the  clatter  of  some  metal  toy, 
Muller  said : 

"  I  will  tell  you  of  it,  Maxon,  but  I  do  not  want  the  boy  to 
absorb  ideas  of  the  heroic  side  of  engine-running.  My  part 
in  this  affair  was  not  of  the  heroic ;  but  I  have  given  enough. 
Him  I  will  not  give." 

Maxon  saw  Lucy's  fingers  close  tighter  upon  Muller's 
hand  at  this,  and  they  sat  quietly  for  a  little  space. 

"  Do  they  understand,  the  body  of  the  people,"  he  asked 
impersonally,  "  what  this  vague  commodity  that  is  called 
*  transportation  '  costs  in  brains  and  blood  and  human  suf- 
fering? It  must  be  that  they  do  not,  or  a  great  human  cry 
would  go  up  against  the  unreasonable  haste  that  we  affect. 

"  The  cost  is  too  great ;  the  steady,  daily,  almost  hourly, 
exaction  of  the  pound  of  flesh  that  lies  nearest  to  the  heart 
of  the  nation.  And  yet,  the  deadly  fascination  of  the  busi- 
ness is  such  that,  if  a  miracle  were  wrought  and  my  shrivelled 

toqo  i 
XiUAl    J 


A         MODERN         MAZEPPA 

arm  became  whole  to-night,  I  suppose  I  should  be  looking 
toward  the  tracks  again  to-morrow." 

Except  for  a  nod  of  assent,  Maxon  left  him  to  find  his  own 
way  back  to  the  event.  The  drawn  look  was  leaving  his  face, 
and  this  substitution  of  thought  for  action,  a  vicarious  return 
to  usefulness,  was  doing  him  good,  as  Maxon  had  hoped. 

"  Twice  a  week,  Seven  left  Chicago  at  the  same  time  that 
Eight  left  San  Francisco ;  far  more  disturbing  to  us  than  if 
they  had  run  daily.  Each  train  had  its  half-million-dollar 
equipment  of  swift  and  heavy  engine,  bath,  barber-shop,  state- 
rooms, dining-room,  library  —  elongated  hotels,  in  fact,  run- 
ning to  meet  one  another,  until  they  came  together  and  passed 
in  the  night,  at  the  crest  of  the  High  Divide  on  our  division. 
You  knew  all  that,  perhaps,  but  you  cannot,  without  living  it, 
know  the  feel  of  heading  one  of  them,  speeding  down  the  line, 
or  of  meeting  and  passing  it  in  the  night.  So,  bear  with  me, 
Maxon.  Having  begun,  I  must  tell  it  in  my  own  way. 

"  It  was  all  right  for  us  as  long  as  they  were  on  the  other 
divisions,  but  when  they  came  in  off  of  the  Mojave  Desert  at 
one  end  and  out  of  Kansas  at  the  other,  and  like  shear-blades 
closed  quickly  down  upon  the  time  of  our  divisions,  it  was 
exacting  business  for  the  trains  that  were  running  between 
them.  The  night  that  trouble  came  in  the  canyon  was  one 
of  the  nights  on  which  Seven  and  Eight  ran. 

"  We  left  Villa  Rica,  where  our  train  was  made  up,  and 
started  on  our  hundred-mile  run  east  through  the  mountains. 
We  had  orders  to  meet  three  other  freight  trains  and  we  knew 
that  they  would  wait  at  Jupiter  until  Number  Seven  overtook 
and  passed  them,  and  that  they  would  then  follow  her  down 
into  the  canyon. 

"  We  had  signed  the  usual  order  at  Villa  Rica,  about  the 

[293] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

two  limited  trains,  reading:  'We  understand  that  trains 
Seven  and  Eight  run  to-night.'  For  the  rest  of  it,  we  had  our 
time-card ;  and  it  meant  '  keep  out  of  the  way,'  even  if  we  had 
to  carry  the  train  on  our  backs  and  climb  a  tree  with  it,  as 
Waverly  used  to  say.  No  excuses  taken,  you  know. 

"  Eight  had  overtaken  and  passed  us  at  the  first  siding  be- 
yond Villa  Rica  yard  and  we  figured  to  get  in  out  of  the  way 
of  coming  Seven  at  Saddler's.  We  had  fifty  cars  of  Cali- 
fornia fruit,  with  two  big  consolidation  engines  coupled  at 
the  front,  double-heading.  Rock-a-by  Johnson's  engine  had 
the  train.  It  was  his  regular  run,  but  I  was  called  to  run  the 
head  engine,  and  I  took  the  run  to  help  Dinwiddy  out  and 
to  get  me  back  on  my  passenger  run  out  of  Alta  Vista. 

"  That  train  make-up  don't  sound  very  big  to  a  river-grade 
man,  but  to  a  mountain  man  it  is  crime.  It  was  raining  when 
we  left  Villa  Rica,  at  eight  in  the  evening,  and  it  rained  all 
night.  At  nine  we  were  at  Selkirk,  twenty  miles  east,  and 
should  have  run  the  ten  miles  ahead,  into  the  canyon  and  to 
Saddler's  siding  in  the  east  end  of  it,  in  twenty  minutes. 
But,  there  was  trouble  from  the  time  we  went  into  the  canyon 
until  the  end  came. 

"  There  are  many  curves  there,  and  at  every  curve  the 
wet  couplings  slipped  over  each  other  alarmingly.  Several 
times  the  train  parted,  but  we  avoided  collision  of  the  parts. 
With  draw-bars  pulled  out  and  the  half-dozen  or  more  break- 
in-twos  of  that  ten  miles,  we  were  an  hour  and  a  half  at  it, 
and  had  not  reached  Saddler's. 

"  The  last  break-in-two  came  at  a  little  crest,  '  The  Half- 
Way  Knob,'  between  Selkirk  and  Saddler's.  It  was  getting 
close  on  Number  Seven's  time,  and  poor  Waverly  —  con- 
ductor, you  know, —  all  crippled  up  with  rheumatism,  came 
running  painfully  to  the  front  and  told  Red  Bill  Jones,  the 

[294] 


A          MODERN          MAZEPPA 

brakeman,  to  cut  me  off  with  the  head  engine,  and  run  the  four 
miles  to  Saddler's,  and  flag  Number  Seven.  It 's  all  single 
track  down  there,  and  he  told  Jones  to  stay  at  Saddler's  siding 
and  hold  Number  Seven  a  week,  if  they  —  Waverly  and  John- 
son —  did  not  show  up  there  with  the  fruit  train.  We  were 
sure  to  delay  Seven,  and  the  only  thing  left  to  do  was  to  make 
the  delay  short  as  possible  and,  above  all,  keep  them  from 
hitting  us,  head-on. 

"  I  ran  those  four  miles  as  fast  as  the  small-wheeled  freight 
engine  could  safely  go,  and  dropped  the  brakeman  at  the 
west  whistling-post  and  told  him  to  walk  to  Saddler's.  That 
made  us  safe  as  a  trundle  bed,  against  Seven,  and  I  reversed, 
at  once,  and  ran  back  to  couple  on  again,  ahead  of  Johnson. 
They  had  been  trying  to  couple  up  the  train  when  I  left,  and  I 
went  back  hard,  expecting  to  help  handle  the  train  over  the 
Knob,  and  so  cut  Seven's  delay  down  as  low  as  I  could.  We 
were  all  proud  of  those  limited  trains  and  it  was  rated  shame- 
ful to  -delay  them  a  minute.  Besides  that,  it  was  just  about 
all  your  job  was  worth. 

"  Once  over  the  Knob,  it  was  all  down-grade  to  Saddler's 
for  Johnson  with  the  train.  Half-way  between  those  points 
is  a  sharp  reverse  curve  in  a  rock-cut,  and  the  track  borders 
the  river.  It  is  the  deepest  part  of  the  canyon,  where  a  great 
palisade  of  dull  red  and  gray  and  green  rock  rises,  and  the 
shelf-rock,  on  the  mountain-side,  runs  out  to  the  level  of  the 
cab  windows;  so  close  that  you  could  toss  your  cap  upon  it 
while  passing,  and  a  mere  line  of  boulders  and  low  standing 
rock  is  between  the  track  and  the  river.  I  was  running  back 
plenty  fast  enough  when  my  engine  roared  over  the  single- 
span  bridge  and  curved  into  the  cut. 

"  I  hit  them  there,  Maxon  —  God  help  me  to  forget ! 

"  I  hit  them,  or  they  hit  me,  and  killed  poor  Waverly ; 

[295] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

ground  him  up  in  the  splintered  timbers  and  trucks,  and 
crippled  Johnson  and  his  fireman,  and  piled  the  cut  and  the 
narrow  river  full,  with  Johnson's  engine,  cars,  telegraph  wires, 
poles,  and  fruit." 

Muller's  wife  was  crying  softly  and  now  pleaded,  "  Don't 
go  on,  Dan.  You  are  not  strong  enough  to  talk  so  much  of 
these  things." 

"  I  've  got  to  tell  it,  Lucy !  It  is  burning  the  soul  out  of 
me,"  said  Muller  brokenly. 

"  You  see,"  he  continued,  when  he  had  regained  his  con- 
trol, "  there  is  so  much  to  remember  and  to  do.  In  most  of 
the  .affairs  of  life,  mistakes  can  be  corrected ;  a  little  lapse  of 
thought;  a  little  extra  weariness;  a  little  error  of  judgment; 
a  little  thing  undone.  But,  with  us,  it  is  final  and  complete. 
There  is  no  recall,  no  sufficient  extenuation. 

"  We  had  no  understanding  between  us,  Johnson  and  I, 
and  Waverly  was  so  worried  with  the  way  things  were  going, 
and  he  was  suffering  so  much  in  the  rain  with  his  rheumatism, 
that  he  forgot  to  cover  that  point  —  which  engine  should 
wait  —  just  as  we  did.  I  take  it  that  Johnson,  as  well  as  I, 
had  no  idea  they  could  couple  up  and  come  ahead  before  I 
got  back  to  help.  Then,  oh,  we  all  missed  a  point.  One 
point ! 

"  They  got  the  train  coupled,  and  were  running  hard  for 
Saddler's,  while  I  ran  back  hard  to  get  to  them.  I  set  my 
brakes  fully  with  one  sweep  of  the  hand,  when  I  heard  them 
coming,  but  the  crash  was  frightful  when  we  met.  My  fire- 
man jumped  into  the  river,  a  breath  or  two  before  we  struck, 
and  he  got  away  safely,  but  I  fared  worse,  as  you  see. 

"  While  Waverly's  last  cry  was  yet  ringing  out  above  the 
grinding  din,  the  tender  was  wrenched  loose  from  my  engine 
and  hurled  upward  and  over  into  the  river.  It,  and  the  coal, 

[296] 


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A         MODERN          MAZEPPA 

struck  the  steel  engine  cab  and  crumpled  it  partly  down  upon 
me.  The  trucks  of  the  tender  ran  under  the  engine's  deck, 
broke  off  both  brake-cylinders,  and  tore  the  reverse  lever  loose 
from  the  fulcrum,  below.  The  throttle  was  open  when  we 
struck  and  the  crumpled  steel  of  the  cab  bent  the  stem  in  the 
gland,  so  that  the  valve  could  not  be  closed.  My  foot  was 
crushed  and  held  at  the  ankle  under  the  displaced  quadrant, 
and  from  the  first  made  me  wild  with  pain. 

"  The  reversing  links  dropped  to  full  go-ahead  position 
when  the  lever  broke  loose,  and  with  the  brake-cylinders  gone, 
the  brakes  were  released.  I  knew  the  full  meaning  of  it 
when  the  wheels  of  my  engine  began  to  spin  and  slip  under  me, 
but  I  could  do  nothing.  While  she  stood  for  a  few  moments 
thrashing  the  track  furiously  with  her  flattened  driving- 
wheels,  I  hoped  that  the  truck  or  the  rods  might  break  under 
the  strain  and  end  it  all  there,  and  pass  me  out  with  Waverly, 
but  save  Seven.  But  the  wheels  took  hold  and  the  engine 
dragged  free  from  the  pile  of  debris  that  hung  upon  the 
crumpled  cab.  Twice  again  she  roared  and  slipped  and  then 
I  was  dashing  back  crazily  through  the  canyon,  toward  Sad- 
dler's, pinned  fast  in  the  tenderless  engine  and,  even  then,  ten 
minutes  on  Number  Seven's  time. 

"  I  knew  that  if  I  passed  the  switch  and  Red  Jones,  the 
flagman,  I  must  run  fair  into  the  face  of  Seven  coming  down- 
grade from  Jupiter,  speeding  to  make  up  her  lost  time.  I 
tried  to  reach  the  swinging  handle  of  the  whistle-cord,  to 
sound  the  long  call  and  have  Jones  ditch  me  at  the  switch,  to 
give  Seven  and  me  one  chance  for  life.  But  the  handle,  in  its 
widest  sweeps,  dangled  just  at  the  ends  of  my  finger-tips 
and  my  crushed  foot  would  not  yield  a  bit  farther  toward  it. 
I  had  pulled  Seven  often  and  knew  what  she  could  do  to  me, 
but  I  am  proud  that  I  was  able  then  to  think  more  of  what  she 

[297] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

would  do  to  herself  and  her  people ;  that  took  almost  the  last 
of  my  strength. 

"  My  engine  seemed  to  be  leaping  the  two  miles  of  straight 
track,  to  where  Jones,  dumbfounded,  stood  wildly  waving  his 
red  lamp  when  he  heard  the  choking  exhaust  and  saw,  too 
late,  that  I  was  not  stopping.  Then  I  heard  his  frantic 
shout  and  saw  him  hurl  his  red  lantern  as  the  engine  roared 
and  careened  close  upon  him.  Steam  from  the  broken  air- 
pump  throttle  was  scalding  the  life  out  of  me  and  flying  in 
clouds  from  the  cab  windows,  but  I  saw  that  his  aim  was 
true.  Through  a  rift  in  the  vapor  I  saw  the  red  globe  shatter 
upon  the  boiler  in  a  burst  of  ruby  fragments,  before  its  ex- 
posed, yellow  flame  snuffed  out  and  left  only  the  dim  head- 
light again  showing,  but  hardly  penetrating,  the  dripping 
darkness. 

"  It  was  just  then  that  the  keen  perfume  of  a  wild-rose 
bush  came  up  to  me  upon  a  swirl  of  cool  wet  air  that  cut  into 
the  steam  cloud  as  I  raced  past  a  thicket  by  the  river.  It  was 
like  a  farewell  breath  of  life  then,  and  now  the  odor  turns  me 
deathly  sick  if  I  get  too  much  of  it. 

"  Plunging  on  in  despair  through  the  rain  and  darkness 
of  the  eight  miles  of  curves  and  grades  alternately  climbing 
and  sagging  over  the  buttes  toward  Jupiter,  I  pictured  the 
three  freights  standing  high  at  Jupiter  with  headlights  cov- 
ered, and  Number  Seven  rushing  up  among  the  lower  buttes 
on  the  Jupiter  side  of  the  high  crest  that  hid  them  all  from 
me ;  then  I  fancied  her  rain-washed  electric  headlight  with  its 
long  trail  of  lighted  car  windows,  stabbing  the  gloom  and 
shooting  like  a  meteor  through  the  black  night  and  across  the 
last  flat  in  a  final  flight  to  gain  the  ridge  at  Jupiter  and  dart 
down  upon  me. 

[298] 


A         MODERN          MAZEPPA 

"  At  every  turn  of  the  driving-wheels,  which  were  flattened 
when  I  set  the  brakes  at  the  wreck,  the  shock  of  the  flat  spots 
jarred  through  the  engine  and  my  trapped  foot  took  up  the 
beat  of  it  agonizingly.  To  my  strained  senses,  the  recurrent 
shock  took  on  the  measure  of  a  horse's  galloping  stride  and 
I  could  not  rid  myself  of  the  thought  of  Mazeppa,  lashed  to 
the  back  of  the  wild  horse. 

"  I  thought  of  you,  Maxon,  and  how,  as  youngsters,  we 
argued  the  human  right  and  wrong  of  that  tale,  when  we  were 
in  school  at  old  New  Haven.  I  have  only  this  little  woman 
who  is  the  good  mother  of  my  son,  and  they  have  made  me 
prince  of  our  little  kingdom.  I  would  be  monarch  of  no 
other.  I  have  never  cherished  revenge,  but  the  hateful  fancy 
that  I  galloped  on  and  on  across  the  waste  places  would  not 
leave  me.  A  drove  of  half-wild  horses  huddled  upon  the 
track,  with  heads  drooped  together  and  tails  turned  to  the 
then  pelting  storm  as  the  engine  dashed  out  of  the  canyon, 
climbed  over  the  first  crest  beyond  Saddler's,  and  rushed  at 
them.  They  broke  and  fled  in  terror  through  the  night  and 
I  seemed  to  pursue  them  on  my  galloping  engine.  The 
steam  was  parboiling  me,  and  my  body,  pivoting  upon  my 
broken  ankle,  was  tossed  and  bruised  constantly ;  now  upon 
the  boiler-head  and  now  half  out  of  the  cab  window  while  the 
speed-wind  was  whipping  and  roaring  around  the  battered 
cab  and  clutching  at  me  with  rough  graspings  that  seared 
my  raw  flesh  like  fire. 

"  Only  a  few  minutes  had  passed  but  every  second  of  them 
belonged  to  Number  Seven,  and  yet  I  ran  on  without  meeting 
her.  Soon,  the  heavy  exhaust  began  tearing  the  fire  from 
the  grates  and  sending  it  in  jets  and  volleys  from  the 
stack.  The  steam  pressure  began  to  fail  and  as  the  succes- 

[  299  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

sive  ridges  were  climbed  at  a  slower  rate  I  sickened  again  with 
brief  returning  hope ;  but,  even  then,  the  engine  held  a  deadly 
pace. 

"  When  I  went  over  the  last  rise  and  into  the  deep  sag  that 
lies  just  west  of  the  high  crest  near  Jupiter,  my  engine  raced 
down  the  grade  with  greatest  speed  and  ran  up  the  other  side 
almost  to  the  top  of  Jupiter  crest.  But  the  up-grade  rap- 
idly sapped  her.  She  went  slower,  slower,  until,  for  a  mo- 
ment, I  hoped  again,  but  quickly  remembered  that  nothing 
stood  between  me  and  Seven.  With  a  long-drawn  gasp  from 
the  stack  she  stopped  just  before  my  headlight  could  show  to 
them  over  the  crest,  and  began  to  creep  back  down  the  grade, 
with  the  steam  contesting  every  slow  turn  of  the  wheels  and 
snorting  short  protests  from  the  stack.  Sometimes  she  came 
to  a  full  stand  and  later  advanced  a  half -turn  as  the  steam 
gathered  in  the  cylinders.  But,  each  time  she  dropped  a  little 
farther  back  at  the  next  exhaust,  and  finally  stood  in  the 
lowest  spot  of  that  hollow  in  the  hills  and  held  me  waiting 
for  the  end. 

"  It  is  strange  how  one's  mind,  in  his  last  extremity,  harks 
far  back  along  the  way  he  has  come.  When  the  shimmering 
white  shaft  from  Number  Seven's  headlight  shot  over  the 
crest  and  focussed  down  upon  me  I  know  I  looked  dully 
through  rifts  of  steam  at  the  sparkling  curtain  of  falling 
rain,  and  repeated  the  simple  little  prayer  that  my  mother 
taught  me,  when  I  was  less  than  the  age  of  our  boy,  and  — " 

"  Oh,  don't,  Daniel !  Don't,  don't/  "  said  his  wife,  and 
buried  her  white  face  upon  his  breast. 

"  Don't,  Muller,"  Maxon  gently  added.  "  It  is  enough, 
is  it  not?  " 

After  he  had  passed  his  free  hand  slowly  to  and  fro  upon 

[300] 


A         MODERN         MAZEPPA 

his  wife's  dark  hair  until  her  shoulders  ceased  to  heave,  Muller 
said  steadily : 

"  I  will  finish  it,  once  for  all.     That  is  best. 

"  The  spear  of  light  from  Jim  Dodson's  engine  on  Seven 
wavered  and  gleamed  as  the  engine  rocked  upon  the  hill-top, 
leaving  me  one  moment  in  the  bright  glare  and  the  next  in 
deep  blackness  cut  only  by  my  own  feeble  headlight.  Again 
and  again,  his  headlight  glared  steadily  upon  me  or  suddenly 
leaped  aside  into  the  desert,  telling  of  quick  lurches  at  speed. 
Knowing  it  futile,  I  called  once  upon  Dodson  to  stop,  but  I 
might  as  well  have  cried  against  the  desert  wind;  and  I  say 
I  knew  it,  Doctor. 

"  When,  finally,  through  a  rift  in  the  steam  that  enveloped 
me,  his  headlight  steadied  down  upon  me  and  the  dark  bulk 
of  his  engine  loomed  behind  it,  I  saw  the  play  of  moving  side- 
rods  and  shut  my  eyes  in  the  cloud  of  steam  which  again 
drifted  into  my  face. 

"  In  the  next  moment  I  was  looking  down  into  Dodson's 
smudged,  white  face  below  my  cab  window,  where  he  was 
scrambling  up  over  the  rock  ballast  and  calling :  '  Muller ! 
Muller!  What  happened?  How  did  you  get  here?' 

"  In  the  great  reaction  of  knowing  that  he  was  not  going 
to  crush  me,  his  rain-streaked  face  and  the  water  dripping 
from  the  visor  of  his  cap  seemed  to  me  a  welcome  jest  and  I 
tried  to  laugh,  but  my  face  was  stiff  as  clay.  It  was  about 
a  week,  they  say,  before  I  knew  anything  more  of  it,  and  then 
Dodson  was  sitting  beside  my  cot  in  Villa  Rica  hospital.  He 
told  me  piecemeal,  while  I  was  mending,  that  the  three 
freights,  longer  than  the  siding  at  Jupiter,  had  delayed  him 
that  night,  'sawing  by '  them.  When  he  shut  off  steam  and 
tipped  over  the  crest,  drifting  down  from  Jupiter,  he  saw 

[301] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

my  headlight  burning  feebly  in  the  white  lane  which  his  elec- 
tric light  cut  into  the  darkness,  but  just  at  first  he  thought 
it  a  track-walker's  lantern  and  came  on.  As  my  light  did  not 
move,  he  stopped  short ;  then  dropped  down  slowly  toward  me 
with  his  train. 

"  Where  I  believed  his  train  had  straightened  and  steadied 
the  light  upon  me  for  the  final  plunge,  he  had  saved  us  all  by 
his  stop. 

"  He  says  they  pried  me  loose  and  backed  up  to  Jupiter 
with  his  train,  letting  one  of  the  freight  engines  down  to  run 
my  dead  engine  back  to  Saddler's.  And  so  I  finished  that 
night  in  a  berth  in  Number  Seven  while  the  wreck  in  the  can- 
yon was  being  cleared  away. 

"  Doctor,"  said  Muller  as  they  sat  a  little  later,  "  if  the 
vagaries  of  dreams  can  conjure  up  anything  more  destroy- 
ing to  peace  than  the  memory  of  that  night's  run,  there  must 
be  horrors  that  I  have  not  dreamed.  The  thing  seems  hideous 
and  unreal  to  me  now,  just  as  it  seemed  part  of  the  time  when 
I  rode  it  through.  But,  I  am  here,  alive  —  witness  of  its 
reality." 

"  You  will  be  better  for  the  telling,"  Maxon  asserted 
calmly,  for  he  knew  no  more  to  say. 

Presently,  Sonny's  sturdy  little  bare  knees  gleamed  white 
and  whiter  in  the  deepening  dusk  upon  the  lawn,  and  soon  he 
clambered  to  his  mother's  lap  quite  wearily. 

"  Willie  has  a  loc'motive,"  he  confided  to  her.  "  Can  I 
have  one  ?  I  want  to  be  an  eng'neer.  My  father 's  an 
eng'neer  on  a  great  big  engine." 

This  last  was  plainly  intended  to  impress  upon  the  doctor 
the  full  measure  of  that  father's  greatness. 

"  Danny,  sonny  dear,"  she  said,  as  a  tremor  ran  through 
Muller,  "  it  costs  too  much." 

[302] 


A          MODERN          MAZEPPA 

"  Willie's  only  cost  a  dollar,"  he  said  sleepily.  "  Have  n't 
we  any  dollars?  " 

"  Dollars  and  dollars,  sonny  dear,"  she  whispered  as  she 
swayed  him  slowly  in  the  cradle  of  her  arms,  "  but  only  one 
little  boy." 

Pondering  this,  the  child  cuddled  closer  within  her  en- 
circling arms,  and  murmuring  drowsily,  "  I  want  to  be  an 
eng'neer,"  he  slept,  while  they  listened  for  a  time  to  the 
crickets  chirping  endlessly : 

"  Peace,  peace,  peace,  peace." 


[303] 


CHAPTER  XIX 
DAVY  SHARER'S  STAMPEDE 

M  TILLER'S  affair  in  Saddler  Canyon  took  a  good  deal 
out  of  Bunnel,  although  the  despatcher  could  in  no 
way  be  held  accountable  for  the  trouble.  The  strain  of  those 
minutes  in  which  Muller  had  run  wild  in  the  face  of  Dodson's 
precious  Number  Seven  had  taken  its  heavy  toll  of  Bunnel, 
and,  what  was  almost  as  heavy  upon  him  at  the  time,  it  had 
brought  back  afresh  to  his  mind  the  agony  of  the  terrible 
blunder  he  had  once  made,  when  he  alone  was  responsible. 

Moreover,  the  years  of  intense  application  to  his  trying 
work  were  telling  upon  his  endurance.  Latterly,  he  had  been 
feeling  more  frequently  the  fatal  numbness  in  the  finger-tips, 
after  long  application  to  the  key  in  times  of  stress ;  the  leaden 
heaviness  of  the  wrists;  and  the  set,  cramped  clutching  of 
the  hands  at  unexpected  moments,  when  they  should  have 
been  supple  or  relaxed. 

He  knew  the  sign  manual  of  that  ill  for  which  there  is  no 
cure  but  prompt  and  permanent  rest  from  the  cause  of  it, 
and  a  lavish  plenty  of  the  good  out-of-doors.  Maxon  had 
warned  him  with  that  single  word :  "  Rest."  And,  when 
the  injunction  could  no  longer  be  disregarded,  Bunnel  bade 
Alta  Vista  a  quiet  farewell  and  took  his  way  back  to  Denver, 
whose  honored  son,  in  railroad  annals,  he  was. 

Bunnel,  withal,  was  bearded  and  placid  and  growing  gray, 
and  Enderby,  like  many  another  with  whose  hourly  fate  the 
hand  and  brain  of  Bunnel  had  dealt  wisely  and  well  through 

[304] 


DAVY      SHARER'S       STAMPEDE 

the  years,  gave  him  up  reluctantly  as  though  yielding  up  a 
brother,  although  they  knew  it  was  well.  In  their  belief  that, 
at  the  first,  Bunnel's  retirement  must  prove  to  him  a  great 
loneliness,  and  prompted  as  well  by  their  longing  for  his  com- 
pany, one  and  another  of  them  journeyed  up  from  the  Col- 
orado division  end,  as  occasion  offered  in  their  lay-overs  at 
Crystal,  and  sought  him  in  his  quiet  retreat. 

It  was  one  of  these  occasions  that  found  Bunnel  snug- 
rigged  in  smoking  jacket  and  slippers,  while  Enderby,  who 
had  somewhat  craftily  incited  him  to  reminiscence,  sat  in 
great  contentment  beside  the  open  fireplace  and  listened. 

"  No,"  Bunnel  admitted  with  a  slow  smile.  "  Clearly, 
I  am  not  an  expert  judge  of  pictures.  And  Denver  is  not  an 
art  centre ;  though  why  it  should  not  be  is  not  so  clear  to  me. 
That  it  is  central  to  the  most  magnificent  work  of  art  that 
was  ever  left  out  of  doors,  few  will  deny." 

There  were  several  reasons,  clear  enough  to  Enderby,  why 
Denver  was  not  then,  or  likely  soon  to  become,  an  art  centre, 
and  from  train-despatching  to  the  so-called  finer  art  he  knew 
was  a  far  call.  Yet,  there  had  been  method  in  his  prompting, 
for  he  also  knew  that  in  the  exquisite  oil  painting  that  hung 
upon  the  wall  of  Bunnel's  comfortable  quarters  was  the  only 
visible  link  between  the  present  calm  of  Bunnel's  face  and  the 
bitterness  of  soul  of  that  other  night,  long  gone,  when  Bun- 
nel had  failed  with  deadly  certainty. 

That  was  a  matter  unique  upon  the  two  divisions,  in  that 
it  had  never  come  up  for  regular  investigation.  Sharer,  the 
then  division  superintendent,  had  settled  it  with  Bunnel  be- 
hind closed  doors,  in  effect,  although  Bunnel,  at  the  time 
had  asked  bravely  that  the  regular  proceeding  might  pre- 
vail. The  fact  that  it  had  not  been  an  open  investigation 
had  weighed  somewhat  upon  Bunnel's  exacting  sense  of  jus- 

[  305  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

tice,  even  though  that  course  must  have  operated  heavily 
against  him,  as  he  well  knew.  Divining  this,  Enderby,  with 
his  keen  insight  and  a  normal  measure  of  human  curiosity, 
now  sought  to  draw  the  bitter,  inner  record  of  it  all  from 
Bunnel  and  have  him  thus  lay  it  away  with  the  things  that 
were  done  and  definitely  of  the  past. 

Meanwhile,  the  picture  lived  and  glowed  in  the  firelit  rays 
from  the  hearth-log  and  gathered  shifting  mysterious  depths 
from  the  waning  light  of  evening  which  was  fast  fading  from 
the  windows  of  the  lofty  retreat  among  the  Denver  hills. 
Enderby,  fascinated  by  it,  well  understood  how  the  picture 
in  itself  might  solace  many  a  lonely  hour  for  Bunnel. 

"  You  see,"  said  Bunnel,  rousing  after  a  pause  in  which  he 
had  apparently  conjured  varied  scenes  from  the  leaping 
flames  in  the  chimney,  "  You  see,  the  boy  was  a  clear  misfit 
on  an  engine,  but  his  father  —  best  friend  I  ever  had,  unless 
I  say  the  boy  —  would  have  it  that  the  youngster  must  go 
on  the  road.  The  boy  wanted  to  go  to  Paris." 

«  Yes  ?  "  said  Enderby.     "  The  boy  ?  " 

"  Oh !  "  laughed  Bunnel.  "  Davy.  Dave  Sharer's  son. 
This  was  in  the  two  years  that  you  were  running  out  of 
Chicago,  and  Sharer  was  superintendent  of  the  mountain 
division.  He  was  winning  his  spurs  then  to  become  the  good 
general  manager  that  he  now  is.  The  boy  —  well,  he  always 
was  a  likable  youngster,  but  his  work  as  a  fireman  was  irreg- 
ular, uncertain  —  oh,  impossible. 

"  Sharer  had  set  his  heart  upon  some  day  turning  the  divi- 
sion over  to  him  when  it  came  time  for  himself  to  move  up  or 
retire.  He  had  told  me  so,  and  he  could  n't  quite  give  up 
the  idea,  for  a  time,  although  it  was  plain  to  most  of  us,  from 
the  start,  that  while  the  boy  was  always  keenly  alive  to  his 

[306] 


DAVY      SHARER'S       STAMPEDE 

surroundings,  he  was  a  dreamer  of  dreams.  It  was  a  bitter 
thing  to  Sharer,  when,  at  last,  he  had  to  admit  that,  but,  if 
I  read  the  signs  rightly,  he  is  having  a  great  consolation, 
now,  in  training  up  young  Joe  Harper  for  the  goal  he  had 
set  for  his  son  Dave. 

"  Well,  young  Dave  came  on  to  fire,  and  between  decora- 
ting the  call-board  in  the  roundhouse  with  none  too  com- 
plimentary crayon  sketches  of  the  peppery  master  mechanic 
we  then  had  at  Alta  Vista,  and  doing  far  from  first-rate  firing 
on  the  busy  yard  engine,  he  made  a  no-account  record  before 
he  ever  got  out  on  the  main  line.  He  never  should  have  gone 
on  the  line  at  all,  but  old  Dave,  bless  his  hard-headed  soul, 
would  have  it,  so  on  young  Dave  went,  firing  across  the 
mountains. 

"  That  is  where  he  broke  into  my  destinies  —  so  much  the 
better  for  me,  in  the  end,  and  pretty  tough  on  the  boy. 

"  In  the  end,  I  say,  for  the  trouble  he  made  on  the  road 
was  constant  and  wearisome,  but  always  just  short  of  bad 
enough  to  take  him  off  for  good  and  all. 

"  He  never  quite  laid  out  a  train  for  want  of  steam,  but 
wherever  he  was  we  had  to  watch  closest,  and  that  part  of  the 
train-sheet  which  recorded  the  movements  of  his  engine  was 
sure  to  show  uneven  work.  Always  dragging,  getting  in  to 
clear  by  a  scratch;  always  menacing  the  schedule  but  never 
quite  laying  down.  And  always  cheerful  about  it;  that  was 
the  rub. 

"  Nobody  would  turn  in  a  report  against  him. 

"Because  he  was  his  father's  son?  No,  sir!  It  was  be- 
cause they  liked  him  and  could  n't  help  it. 

"  They  would  come  into  the  terminal  and  cuss  him  out 
scandalously,  when  they  got  there  by  a  squeak,  but  if  any- 

[307] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

body  suggested  taking  him  off  the  complainants  at  once  soft- 
ened to  a  recital  of  his  good  qualities  and  were  ready  to  fight 
for  him. 

"  So  it  went,  until  one  autumn  day  when  the  cattle  rush 
was  on,  and  then  he  broke  his  record.  Up  to  that  time,  he 
had  never  been  known  to  have  enough  steam  to  lift  the  safety- 
valve,  running  or  standing,  and  by  that  fact  he  was  greeted 
in  every  form  of  raillery.  But,  neither  had  he,  thus  far, 
totally  hung  up  a  train  for  want  of  steam. 

"  The  line  was  full  that  day  —  worse  luck  —  and  so  many 
crews  being  needed  might  account  for  Dave's  being  put  upon 
a  live-stock  run.  He  was  there,  at  any  rate,  and  I  had  lost 
track  of  him  for  the  time-being,  but  not  for  long,  as  usual. 

"  Over  there  in  the  desert,  not  very  far  from  the  middle 
of  the  division,  there  was  a  telegraph  station,  water  tank, 
corral,  and  two  sidings  to  serve  them.  You  never  saw  them, 
I  believe;  made  and  abolished  while  you  were  away,  east. 
I  planned  my  train-sheet  to  have  two  stock  extras  meet  there ; 
load  them  with  the  herd  of  eight  hundred  cattle  that  we  knew 
was  coming  up  on  a  long  drive  out  of  Throgg's  Creek  bot- 
toms, and  run  one  train  of  them  east,  toward  the  Kansas  fat- 
tening pens,  and  the  other  west  and  down  into  the  Rio 
Grande  bottoms,  to  feed  during  the  winter.  It  was  the  usual 
thing  for  that  time  of  year,  you  know,  with  fast  freight, 
passenger,  and  heavy  drags,  galore,  to  work  the  stock  trains 
among. 

"  Chartress,  despatcher  on  the  four  o'clock  to  midnight 
trick,  was  off,  and  I  was  working  his  eight-hour  shift,  in 
addition  to  my  own  eight  hours  which  I  had  worked  earlier 
in  the  day. 

"  Tired?     Of  course.     But  I  thought  I  was  all  right. 

[308] 


DAVY      SHARER'S       STAMPEDE 

"  I  made  the  order  that  set  things  wrong ;  sent  it  and 
copied  it  in  the  book,  in  the  absence  of  my  operator.  We 
were  all  over-worked,  and  he  was  out  of  the  room  when*  the 
need  arose. 

"  It  was  as  complete  a  lapse  between  hand  and  brain  as 
ever  went  upon  book  or  wire. 

"  In  addition  to  the  other  trains,  we  had  regular  fast 
freights,  No.  44  east  and  No.  43  west  to  put  through  without 
delay;  two  sections  each.  And  heavy  drag  No.  45  working 
west  over  the  division  with  two  engines  double-heading,  clean- 
ing up  sidings,  on  third-class  rights.  There  were  reasons 
why  I  did  not  want  to  run  the  drag  as  an  extra  and  I  had 
been  stabbing  it  to  help  the  others  out. 

"  In  making  the  order,  I  thought  l  43 '  and  sent  and  even 
wrote  *  45 '  and  turned  back  to  my  train-sheet,  without  noti- 
cing the  mistake. 

"Sleepy?  Not  very.  At  least  I  did  not  feel  so;  just 
fagged  and  dull,  until  my  copier  came  back  into  the  room 
and  found  the  error,  fifteen  minutes  later.  I  became  so  wide 
awake  then  that  I  thought  sleep  would  never  come  to  me 
again. 

"  I  had  turned  the  double-header  drag,  No.  45,  loose  down 
the  mountain,  with  rights  equal  to  No.  43's  fast  freight  rights, 
against  the  two  sections  of  No.  44,  and  just  before  that  had 
given  the  stock  extra  east  the  right  to  pass  No.  44  when  over- 
taken. The  order  was  fit  for  No.  43,  which  I  was  then  mov- 
ing upon  a  similar  order;  but  in  the  hands  of  No.  45's  crew  it 
was  a  death  warrant.  They  went  on  it. 

"  Young  Dave  was  firing  the  stock  extra  east  and  they 
were  sure  to  overtake  and  pass  No.  44. 

"  I  '11  own  that  when  I  realized  I  had  sent  Dave  Sharer's 

[309] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

son  to  his  doom,  with  the  others,  I  stumbled  into  the  little  rear 
room  and  grovelled  and  writhed  alone  upon  the  floor,  until  the 
first  keen  agony  was  over. 

"  We  had  called  every  station  that  could  hold  them  apart, 
by  any  chance,  and  all  had  said  they  were  gone,  both  ways 
—  to  destroy  one  another  in  the  darkness  below  the  cliff  where 
Montezuma's  Head  rises  up  sheer  out  of  the  canyon.  We 
did  all  that  men  do  with  the  wires  at  such  times  and  it  was 
all  useless. 

"  I  ordered  the  wreckers  after  them  from  both  ends  of  the 
division  and  sent  the  caller  out  to  find  old  Dave.  When  he 
came,  I  told  him  what  I  had  done  and  asked  him  to  kill  me. 

"  He  only  pressed  me  down  again  into  my  chair  and  said : 
*  Steady,  Bunnel.' 

"  Then  he  sat  down  at  the  key,  without  another  word,  and 
combed  the  line  as  we  had  done,  but  with  a  tremor  in  his  send- 
ing that  brought  tears  from  the  boys  standing  helplessly  by. 

"  When  it  was  plain  to  him  that  nothing  we  could  do 
would  save  them,  he  turned  and  walked  toward  the  door,  look- 
ing like  a  man  just  stepped  from  the  tomb.  He  went  with 
the  wreckers  from  our  — 

"  Come  in ! "  Bunnel  called  with  sudden  sprightliness,  in 
response  to  a  sharp  tattoo  upon  his  door.  "  Come  in,  Davy, 
boy ! "  he  added  as  the  door  swung  open  before  a  smiling 
young  fellow  who  waited  for  no  further  urging. 

"  Howdy,  Uncle  Bunnel  I  Room  for  one  more  ?  Train- 
running,  I  '11  venture,"  he  said  in  a  breath. 

"  Yes,"  chuckled  Bunnel,  "  and  I  need  you  now,  to  finish 
my  train-sheet. 

"  Enderby,  this  is  Dave  Sharer's  first-born  son.  You  knew 
him  as  a  baby !  Shake  hands  with  him,  grown  a  man. 

"  Davy,  I  have  been  saying  how  we  tried  to  spoil  a  good 

[310] 


DAVY      SHARER'S       STAMPEDE 

artist  to  make  a  poor  sort  of  fireman,  before  you  went  to 
Europe  to  study  and  paint,  but  I  failed  to  say  that  you  had 
just  returned.  Sit  down  and  tell  Enderby  how  you  patched 
up  my  train-order,  on  your  last  run.  How  about  the  stam- 
pede, that  last  day  ?  " 

The  young  man  lingeringly  released  his  grip  of  Bunnel's 
hand  and  heartily  acknowledged  the  informal  introduction, 
before  his  eyes  sought  the  picture,  which  seemed  to  embody 
subtle,  living  lights  all  its  own.  He  moved  toward  it  as 
though  irresistibly  drawn  and  stood  long  and  silently  gazing 
into  its  wonderful  depths.  At  last,  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction 
and  of  longing,  he  spoke. 

"  Whatever  may  be  the  ordered  span  of  my  life,  I  would 
give  one  year  of  it  to  live  that  single  day  again." 

"  All  of  that  day,  Davy  ?  "  said  Bunnel. 

"  Yes.  All,"  the  young  man  replied,  settling  himself  in 
the  shadowy  background.  "  It  was  magnificent ;  even  my 
marvellous  blundering,"  and  his  happy  laugh  mingled  with  a 
chuckling  growl  of  protest  from  Bunnel. 

"  Go  on,  then,"  said  Bunnel.  "  Live  what  you  can  of  it 
to-day." 

"  You  know  I  never  was  worth  discharging,  until  that 
day  — " 

"Yes.  I  have  just  told  Enderby  of  that,"  interjected 
Bunnel  soberly. 

"  Thanks,"  said  Davy  gleefully.  "  And  then,  as  soon  as 
I  was  worth  it,  I  got  it  promptly. 

"  Poor  frightened  old  Dad !  When  he  stepped  off  of  the 
wrecker  engine  at  the  first  station  this  side  of  Montezuma's 
Head  and  caught  sight  of  us  after  we  had  sorted  out  the 
tangle,  he  had  learned  already  how  we  got  there. 

"  He  ran  at  me  and  hugged  me  and  shouted :  '  Dave,  you 

[311] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

young  rascal !     You  are  discharged !     Fired !     Do  you  hear  ? 
Fired! ' 

"  The  boys  stood  around  and  laughed  happily  and  Dad 
wept  some,  and  we  had  the  queerest  time  the  old  mountain 
ever  looked  down  upon.  He  would  n't  even  let  me  finish  the 
run,  but  held  onto  my  coat  sleeve  all  the  way  over  the  moun- 
tain, in  the  tackle-car. 

"  The  way  it  came  about,  you  know,  we  had  laid  there  at 
the  corral  longer  than  we  had  expected  to,  before  the  herd 
came.  The  cattlemen  were  worn  out  and  the  herd  was  foot- 
sore and  parched  with  thirst. 

"  That  is  what  broke  up  Uncle  Bunnel's  slate  in  the  first 
place  —  not  I.  I  got  in  my  work  later;  plenty  of  it,  too. 
Instead  of  loading  our  twelve  cars  of  cattle  and  pulling  out 
a  half-hour  ahead  of  first  No.  44,  to  meet  first  and  second  No. 
43  at  the  first  siding  east,  we  were  still  waiting  for  the  cattle 
when  43's  and  first  44  met  and  passed  at  the  corral. 

"  So,  we  laid  there  and  waited  in  the  golden  glamour  of 
the  desert  until  the  enchantment  of  it  began  to  steal  in  upon 
me,  as  usual,  pretty  much  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else.  I 
loaded  up  the  fire-box  and  made  myself  comfortable  upon  the 
seat.  I  was  looking  away  toward  the  Throgg's  Creek  region 
when  the  first  film  of  gray  dust  against  the  blue  of  the  sky 
told  of  the  coming  of  the  herd. 

"  The  little  cloud  of  dust  grew  and  rolled  up  above  the 
far  levels  long  before  there  was  an  atom  of  moving  life  visible 
in  all  the  vast  gray  country  around.  No  sound,  except  the 
purring  of  the  engines,  broke  the  silence  of  the  seared  plains 
and  the  quivering  buttes.  To  me  it  was  as  though  we  were 
marooned  in  a  sunny  sea,  with  no  more  serious  purpose  than 
to  revel  in  the  matchless  peace  of  it  all." 

[312] 


DAVY      SHARER'S      STAMPEDE 

"  Dreaming,"  prompted  Bunnel,  with  a  nod  of  reprehen- 
sion. 

"  Dreaming,"  assented  Davy,  with  a  smile  of  accord. 

"  At  last,  the  sky-line  was  ruffled  by  a  ragged  fringe  of 
tossing  horns  and,  suddenly,  the  first  of  the  wild  things  sprang 
up  out  of  the  last  deep  arroyo  and  came  plunging  across 
the  plain  toward  us.  Many  of  them  had  that  day  made  their 
first  acquaintance  with  men,  much  less  with  engines. 

"  Then  the  trial  of  skill,  courage,  and  endurance  of  the 
herders  really  began.  It  opened  with  a  sudden  charge  toward 
the  corral  and  quickly  broke  to  a  whirling,  milling,  scattering 
flight  at  sight  of  the  engines.  A  score  of  times  the  wild 
herd  broke  and  scattered  and  as  often  it  was  rounded  up, 
smoothed  down  upon  its  edges,  crowded,  flogged,  dragged 
into  a  compact  body.  In  the  form  of  a  great  living  V  it 
was  being  forced  forward  to  the  wing-fences  of  the  corral, 
behind  which  we  lay  waiting  upon  one  of  the  sidings. 

"  Moaning,  bellowing,  retreating,  advancing,  at  last  the 
point  of  the  big  V  was  so  near  the  corral  that  we  could 
hear  the  clacking  of  tossing  horns,  like  the  ceaseless  discharge 
of  distant  musketry,  commanded  by  the  ringing  cries  of  the 
circling  riders.  We  could  even  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  rolling 
eyes  of  the  frightened  beasts. 

"  And  the  color-tones  !  The  dull  reds  of  their  dusty  hides ; 
the  duns,  the  grays,  the  violet  tinges  upon  the  white-faced 
Heref ords,  the  — " 

"  Dreaming,"  said  Bunnel  deprecatingly,  for,  from  the 
view-point  of  the  despatcher,  this  was  all  rank  railroad 
heresy ;  little  short  of  desertion  on  the  firing  line. 

"  Dreaming,"  admitted  Davy,  without  protest,  "  but  it  was 
a  glorious  dream,  with  a  rude  awakening. 

[313] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  Almost,  they  were  entering  the  wing-ways  of  the  corral," 
he  resumed,  "  when  Colorado,  the  sun,  the  altitude,  or  all  of 
these  together  worked  one  of  their  wonder-spells  of  the  late 
autumn. 

"  The  herd  with  lolling  tongues,  came  bellowing,  moaning, 
on  out  of  the  brilliant  sunshine,  to  the  southwest  of  us, 
when,  in  the  north  and  east,  there  suddenly  spread  a  great 
pall  that  rode  swiftly  down  toward  us  on  the  crest  of  a 
driving  wind.  A  wonderful  veil  of  white,  arched  with  the 
most  brilliant  of  rainbows,  rose  higher  and  higher  in  the 
field  of  the  sky's  deepest  blue  and  spread  wider  and  wider 
upon  the  earth-line  until  it  spanned  the  northern  horizon, 
from  earth  to  earth. 

"  The  beautiful  spectacle  came  sweeping  on,  with  a  dull 
roar  that  gradually  rose  above  the  moaning  of  the  restless 
herd,  and  from  highest  arch  to  uttermost  rims  fell  a  wall 
of  rain  crystals  that  caught  the  emerald  and  gold  and  silver 
and  pearl  and  drew  them  earthward  in  a  transparent  veil  that 
shimmered  from  the  dazzling  pinks  and  red-gold  and  blues 
of  the  arch  to  the  tawny  gray  of  the  seared  desert. 

"  Back  of  it  all  rode  the  wind,  swift  and  strong,  in  the 
rear  of  the  ruffle  of  dust  that  puffed  and  smoked  from  the 
dry  earth  at  the  racing  base  01"  the  wall  of  falling  rain. 
And  into  the  magic  hollow  of  it  all,  like  a  great  undimmed 
torch  in  the  western  sky,  shone  the  brilliant  sun,  serene  and 
undisturbed. 

"  The  roar  of  the  falling  rain  and  the  ripping  wind  grew 
rapidly  louder  and  the  last  view  I  had  of  the  herd  before  the 
end  came  was  that  of  a  restless  sea  of  tossing  horns  in  the 
sunshine,  around  which  men  were  riding  wildly. 

"  But  I  saw  little  of  that.  I  was  watching  the  wonderful 
storm  which  had  not  yet  broken  upon  us. 

[314] 


DAVY      SHARER'S       STAMPEDE 

"  The  bejewelled  pageant  rushed  toward  the  tracks  where 
all  as  yet  was  as  placid  as  a  dream  — " 

"  Ah,  your  dreams,  Davy ! "  nodded  Bunnel,  deploringly. 

"  The  great  arch  was  just  about  to  sweep  over  us,"  Davy 
continued  fervently,  "  and  on  toward  the  herd,  when  I  called 
across  the  cab  to  Jim  Dodson,  the  engineer,  '  if  I  could  paint 
it,  Jim !  If  I  could  only  — ' 

"  And  then  my  engine  popped.  For  the  first  and  last  time 
in  my  career  as  a  fireman,  she  popped ! " 

Bunnel  groaned  in  anguish  and  flecked  the  ashes  savagely 
from  his  cigar  into  the  curling  flames  of  the  fire. 

"  It  was  no  spurt ;  no  muffled  sputter ;  but  a  savage,  rasp- 
ing, roaring  column  of  steam  that  had  gathered,  unobserved, 
from  my  last  lazy-man's  charge  of  coal.  The  long  blast 
ended  with  a  volley  of  stuttering  *  Pui-put-vuTS '  that  drove 
the  last  pangs  of  terror  deep  into  the  hearts  of  the  fright- 
ened herd  just  when  the  storm  struck  the  leaders,  at  the 
gates  of  the  corral." 

"Oh,  lordy!"  ejaculated  Bunnel,  whose  mind  was  now 
strung  again  with  the  tension  of  that  day's  delays  and 
agonies. 

"  Few  living  things  could  have  stood  up  to  it  unafraid, 
and  certainly  not  that  wild  herd,"  said  Davy  soberly  and 
with  real  regret.  "  The  point  of  the  big  V  of  cattle  rose 
up  off  of  the  ground  like  the  side  edge  of  a  suddenly  up- 
ended wedge.  It  doubled  back  upon  the  herd,  tossing  it  like 
chaff. 

"  The  herd  boiled  up  in  the  middle,  milling  and  surging  for 
a  moment  and  then,  in  the  wink  of  an  eye,  the  great  V 
turned  itself  inside  out,  as  it  were,  and  galloping,  writhing  in 
its  ecstasy  of  terror,  spread  fan-shaped  into  the  southwest, 
whipped  to  the  furious  pace  of  the  storm. 

[315] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  The  men  rode  hard  to  head  the  stampede,  but  it  was  of 
little  use;  almost  as  hopeless  as  trying  to  head  the  storm. 
It  was  a  glorious  battle.  Wherever  they  gathered  a  bunch 
of  the  flying  herd  together  and,  for  an  instant,  turned  it,  it 
burst  and  shattered  like  a  brown  bubble  upon  the  plain  and 
reformed  and  joined  the  mass  and  fled  again. 

"  At  last,  all  had  dropped  from  view  except  one  lone 
yearling  that  raced  with  a  horseman  across  the  dim  sky-line, 
in  the  storm.  They  went  down  together  into  the  big  arroyo 
and  the  plain  was  again  as  vacant  and  bare  of  life  as  though 
no  living  thing  had  ever  moved  upon  it  —  a  brown  glisten- 
ing expanse  of  mud,  upon  which  the  brilliant  sunlight  had 
suddenly  broken  again  in  full  splendor. 

"  We  were  stunned  by  the  swiftness  of  it.  Jim  Dodson 
spoke  first. 

"  *  You  ought  to  go  and  die  now,  Davy,'  he  quietly  said 
to  me.  '  You  're  sure  no  good  in  this  country.5 

"  I  agreed  with  him.  c  This  looks  like  my  chance,  Jim,' 
I  said. 

"  Two  of  the  cowmen  were  plunging  afoot  through  the 
mud,  from  the  corral  toward  the  engine,  and  they  ran  up  over 
the  pilot  to  the  foot-board  and  slashed  off  the  bell-cord  as 
they  came  toward  the  front  door  of  the  cab,  on  his  side. 

"  Jim  took  a  look  at  them ;  reached  down  for  the  shaker- 
bar  and  met  them  at  the  door,  snarling  like  a  wolf. 

"  *  You  are  in  the  wrong  honkatonk  ! '  said  he.  '  You 
fellows  don't  rope  anybody  off  of  an  engine  of  mine ! ' 

"  Between  us,  we  stood  them  off  until  they  cooled  down 
some  and  returned  to  the  corral.  I  was  so  ashamed  of  stam- 
peding the  herd  that  I  did  not  care  much  whether  they  got 
me  or  not.  Jim  seemed  to  have  other  ideas." 

Bunnel,  leaning  forward,  nodded  understandingly  and  said : 

[316] 


DAVY      SHARER'S      STAMPEDE 

"Well?" 

"  The  herd  was  driven  back,  after  a  while,"  Davy  pro- 
ceeded, "  and  just  when  the  last  of  it  was  being  forced  into 
our  train,  we  got  Uncle  Bunnel's  order  to  go ;  and  pass  first 
No.  44  when  we  overtook  it." 

The  firelight  played  kindly  pranks  with  the  silver  in  Bun- 
nel's hair  as  his  head  sunk  lower  upon  his  breast,  at  this, 
and  he  gazed  silently  into  the  glowing  embers. 

"  We  pulled  out  ahead  of  second  No.  44,  in  mighty  deep 
silence,  as  far  as  Jim  and  I  were  concerned.  He  took  only 
one  more  whack  at  me.  When  Waverly,  the  conductor, 
handed  up  the  order  he  tried  to  cheer  things  a  bit  by  referring 
to  the  storm. 

"  *  Much  agua!  '  he  said. 

"  '  Much  water ! '  echoed  Jim.  *  That 's  not  what 's  been 
troubling  us  lately.  For  once  in  our  busted  and  boggy 
career,  we  had  too  much  steam ! ' 

"  We  made  good  running  of  it,  for  a  while,  and  at  the 
first  siding  below  the  foot  of  the  mountain  we  had  run  up 
close  enough  upon  first  44  to  drive  them  in  and  pass  them 
there  in  the  dark.  It  is  mostly  down-grade  from  the  corral  to 
that  point;  which  accounts  for  our  good  progress,"  Dave 
explained,  with  an  apologetic  glance  toward  Bunnel. 

"  Beyond  that,  you  know,  the  mountain  climb  begins,  and 
I  did  not  do  so  well.  We  were  taking  turns  at  working  the 
injectors,  as  the  rules  required.  I  was  so  disturbed  about 
the  mess  I  had  made  of  the  cattle,  that  I  forgot  my  injector 
for  a  little  spell  while  it  was  on. 

"  The  water-glass  light  was  none  too  bright  —  I  had  for- 
gotten to  fill  the  lamp  —  and  I  got  too  much  water  in  the 
boiler  before  Jim  noticed  it.  The  steam  began  to  go  back 
and  then  I  got  some  holes  in  the  fire,  as  usual.  Oh,  it  was 

[317] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

the  same  old  thing !     I  was  of  no  earthly  use  upon  an  engine ; 
only,  this  time  it  was  worse  than  ever  before. 

"  When  we  made  a  run  for  the  hill,  toward  Montezuma's 
Head,  the  steam  played  out  badly  and  we  stalled  fairly  in  the 
middle  of  the  first  high  bridge  over  the  headwaters  of 
Throgg's  Creek. 

"  I  never  saw  Jim  so  mad  before,  although  I  had  often 
earned  and  received  a  deal  of  plain  talk  from  him.  He 
wouldn't  talk  to  me  at  all.  He  was  just  getting  well  of 
a  hurt  knee,  and  he  got  down  and  limped  over  to  a  pile  of  old 
railroad  ties  near  the  end  of  the  bridge  and  began  to  carry 
one  of  the  driest  of  them  toward  the  engine,  to  fire  up  with. 
I  was  following  him  with  another  tie  on  my  shoulder  when, 
suddenly,  he  tossed  his  tie  to  the  ground,  knocking  me  over 
backward  with  mine,  and  raised  his  hand  aloft  crying: 
'  Listen ! ' 

"  We  heard  it  plainly  enough.  Around  the  sandstone 
hip  of  Montezuma's  Head  cliff,  half  a  mile  up  the  heavy 
grade  and  curve,  you  know,  is  the  second  high  bridge,  and 
down  through  the  darkness  came  the  deep  drumming  of  a 
freight  making  all  speed  allowable  across  the  bridge  and  down 
the  mountain.  It  was  the  double-header,  No.  45. 

"  Jim  yanked  me  to  my  feet  before  I  could  rise,  of  myself, 
and  dragged  me  with  him  out  upon  the  bridge  to  the  engine. 
He  lighted  the  red  lantern  in  the  cab  and  thrust  it  down  to 
me,  just  as  the  conductor  and  head  brakeman  came  sulking 
up  from  our  train. 

"  *  Run,  Dave !  For  the  sake  of  the  boys,  run  and  swing 
them  down  ! '  he  shouted. 

"  The  brakeman  and  I  raced  away  together,  while  Jim  set 
the  whistle  booming  in  the  hope  that  the  oncoming  crews 
might  hear. 

[318] 


DAVY       SHARER'S       STAMPEDE 

"  We  did  not  get  very  far  before  the  two  engines  of  the 
heavy  drag  came  thundering  around  the  curve.  They  an- 
swered my  flag-light,  but  went  grinding  on  past  us  at  a 
rate  that  seemed  to  leave  no  chance  for  any  of  them.  The 
brakeman  made  a  flying  leap  at  a  passing  hand-iron ;  caught 
it  and  clung  there  like  a  squirrel,  for  an  instant,  and  then 
clambered  to  the  top.  He  ran  over  the  cars,  game  to  the 
core,  twisting  up  brake-wheels  on  the  non-airs  to  the  last 
moment  in  which  I  could  see  him,  before  he  faded  into  the 
night.  That  left  me  standing  there  by  the  track  listening 
for  the  inevitable  crash. 

"  It  came,  all  too  soon,  but  was  not  so  terrifying  as  I  had 
expected.  I  hurried  back  toward  the  engines  and  found  a 
silent  group  of  men  near  the  end  of  the  bridge.  In  the  midst 
of  them  sat  Jim  with  his  lantern,  upon  his  discarded  railroad 
tie,  and  the  rest  of  the  boys  were  all  there  and  all  unhurt. 

"  '  Well  done,  boy,'  he  said  as  I  came  up.  '  Only  a  mat- 
ter of  pilots  knocked  off.  These  fellows  will  couple  on  and 
drop  us  down  the  hill  and  we  will  try  it  over,  when  they  get  by 
and  Bunnel  finds  out  where  we  all  belong  on  the  train-sheet.' 

"  I  skulked  over  and  sat  down  where  my  tie  had  fallen  — 
could  n't  stand  up,  in  fact  —  and  said  nothing.  Dodson 
seemed  very  proud  of  me,  however.  He  got  up  and  led  the 
group  to  my  humble  seat  and  said :  *  Davy,  this  is  sure 
your  last  trip.  You  have  had  more  steam,  and  less  of  it, 
than  you  ever  had  before.  But,'  turning  to  the  crews  of 
the  double-header  drag  engines,  *  it 's  a  mighty  healthy  thing 
for  you  fellows  that  he  was  n't  fired  yesterday,  or  we  should 
have  had  a  fireman  who  could  fire,  and  been  over  the  road 
with  this  stock  two  hours  ago.  Then,  you  would  have  met 
44's  here  with  a  full  head  of  steam  on.  D'  ye  hear  them 
a-poppin'  off  down  there  in  the  canyon  behind  us?' 

[319] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  '  Davy,  you  sure  set  up  a  soft  mark  for  old  Bunnel's 
double-header  bull,  and,  I  am  thinking,  he  will  be  much 
obliged  to  you  as  long  as  he  lives.  But  your  old  dad  will 
fire  you,  sure  enough.' 

"  He  did  —  as  I  have  told  you,"  Davy  added,  "  but  he 
did  more  than  that.  He  agreed  to  let  me  go  to  Paris,  and 
when  I  had  done  this  *  Stampede '  there,  and  taken  a  medal 
on  it,  I  sent  the  picture  home  to  him. 

"  Good  old  Dad !  He  could  n't  bear  to  look  at  it,  he  said ; 
hoped  it  would  not  hurt  my  feelings,  he  wrote,  but  he  had 
given  it  to  Uncle  Bunnel,  to  put  a  little  sunshine  into  the 
memory  of  that  day  —  and  I  think  sometimes,  the  Uncle 
rather  likes  it." 

"  He  does,  Davy,  he  does.  Likes  it  immensely,"  said 
Bunnel.  "  More  than  anything  else  that  he  possesses." 

"  However,"  laughed  Dave,  "  we  have  never  been  able  to 
quite  agree  whether  my  incompetence  most  made  or  marred 
Uncle  Bunnel's  work  that  day." 

Bunnel,  gazing  deep  into  the  glowing  embers,  was  smoking 
calmly,  with  the  composure  of  a  man  who  has  attained  peace 
through  much  anguish.  He  did  not  answer. 


[320] 


CHAPTER  XX 
DOC.  MAXON:  VOLUNTEER 

SANCHO  and  Lota  were  probably  as  good  specimens  of 
southwestern  Indian  as  the  mountains  and  mesas  of  the 
Rio  Grande  have  produced.  Maxon  first  saw  them  one 
evening  well  on  in  summer.  The  general  manager's  car, 
on  one  of  his  occasional  side  trips  of  inspection  to  the  coal 
camp,  had  just  come  to  anchor  at  the  upper  end  of  Harmony 
Spur  and  the  old  yard  engine  that  had  brought  it  up  was 
sputtering  back  between  the  high  walls  of  the  gorge,  toward 
Villa  Rica  junction. 

"  On  three  legs ! "  said  Maxon,  gazing  after  the  retreat- 
ing engine,  the  irregular  exhaust  of  which  echoed  lamely 
from  the  ragged  walls  of  rock. 

To  the  good  doctor's  eyes,  after  some  busy  years  as 
physician  and  surgeon  on  the  mountain  single-track,  all 
things  were  symptoms,  for  good  or  for  ill,  and  nothing  hav- 
ing even  the  semblance  of  being  crippled  long  escaped  his 
attention.  That  he  might  not  become  too  intent  upon  these 
things,  Sharer  found  a  special  pleasure  in  spiriting  him 
away  from  Alta  Vista,  sometimes,  upon  the  plea  of  a  needed 
sanitary  inspection  of  Harmony  camp,  or  of  some  place  else 
which  usually  proved  to  be  equally  restful  and  healthful. 

This  particular  trip  of  the  general  manager  had  begun 
with  something  a  little  aside  from  the  ordinary,  and  finally 
resulted  in  something  quite  unexpected  in  Maxon's  steady- 
going  routine.  Leaving  Chicago,  it  had  launched  Mack 

[  321  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

Albry,  erstwhile  switchman,  with  a  new  light  shining  in  his 
steady  blue  eyes,  upon  his  first  trip  as  Sharer's  private  secre- 
tary. There,  also,  young  Tom  Maxon,  who  laughingly 
asserted  that  he  had  "  taught  St.  Luke's  Hospital  folks  about 
all  they  could  learn  "  from  him,  had  been  recovered  from 
the  sleeper  which  he  had  been  about  to  enter,  and  brought 
back  in  unassuming  triumph  to  the  mountains,  in  Sharer's 
business  car. 

In  that  way  it  came  about  that,  when  the  handsome  pair  of 
young  Indians  came  down  through  the  deep  windings  of  the 
canyon,  as  silently  as  the  lengthening  shadows  of  the  Big 
Ortiz,  and  unslung  their  heavy  packs  of  pink  wild  plums 
for  barter,  Sharer  and  Maxon  sat  upon  the  observation  end  of 
the  car  speaking  quietly  of  many  things,  while  Tom,  still 
thrilling  with  the  return  to  the  high  places,  leaned  over  the 
railing.  In  his  eyes  was  that  odd  admixture  of  exultation  and 
regret  that  can  be  found  only  in  the  eyes  of  a  skilful  sur- 
geon looking,  at  leisure,  upon  his  finished  work.  He  was 
looking  with  admiration  at  Albry's  stalwart  figure,  moving 
with  its  measured  limp,  upon  the  ground  by  the  track,  and 
it  was  from  a  rapt  contemplation  of  Albry's  cleverly  sub- 
stituted foot  that  Tom's  glance  arose,  to  settle  upon  the 
Indians,  as  they  rounded  the  end  of  the  car. 

The  blue-black  hair  of  the  woman,  cropped  square  at  the 
brows  and  hooded  only  in  its  own  luxuriance,  framed  a  rare 
oval  of  brown  face,  true  Navajo.  Her  black  eyes  shone  with 
something  of  the  guarded  look  of  an  animal  that  would  be 
friendly  but  fears  abuse.  Her  navy  blue  kilt  swung  free  to 
the  knees  and  endlessly  wound  leggings  of  coarse  white 
muslin  continued  to  the  neat  moccasins  in  which  she  stood, 
graceful  as  a  young  cedar. 

The  man's  idea  of  color  had  taken  a  wider  turn.  His 

[322] 


DOC.      MAXON:      VOLUNTEER 

narrow  face,  in  lighter  hue,  rose  with  a  certain  dignity  above 
his  squared  shoulders.  A  loose  blouse  shirt  of  some  brilliant 
red  stuff  hung  free  over  canvas  trousers  that  had  been  white, 
and  in  his  thick  white  brow-band  a  single  narrow  feather  of 
changing  gold  and  green  wound  twice  around  his  head  and 
hid  its  ends  in  the  folded  linen.  His  black  hair  streamed 
loose  to  the  shoulder  in  the  breeze  that  rustled  up  the  canyon, 
and  against  the  background  of  lights  that  riot  upon  the 
peaks  of  the  Ortiz  at  sunset,  the  red-gold  and  pearl  and  pink 
that  turn  the  sky  to  living  opal,  the  Indians  stood  and  be- 
longed. They  were  part  of  it,  and  very  good  to  see  among 
the  crowding  cliffs. 

With  their  brief  bartering  done  they  presently  bent  to 
lift  their  packs,  and  from  Lota's  wrist  dropped  into  view  a 
broad  thong  of  tanned  rattlesnake  skin  upon  which  hung  a 
heavy  oval  of  turquoise,  gray  in  spots  with  pieces  of  matrix. 
The  immediate  prospect  of  a  two-bit  silver  piece,  which  Albry 
promptly  produced  for  purposes  of  delay,  gave  the  others 
time  to  gather  about  and  examine  the  stone  while  she  shifted 
uneasily  from  side  to  side,  with  her  eyes  upon  Sancho.  His 
hand  went  slowly  under  the  wavering  field  of  red  to  his 
belt,  and  his  glistening  eyes  never  left  the  men.  Evidently 
they  were  not  the  first  who  had  seen  and  wanted  the  tur- 
quoise. Its  matchless  blue  was  shaded  in  places  to  softest 
green  from  contact  with  the  flesh,  a  beautiful  fault,  and 
across  the  face  ran  a  narrow  thread,  deep-veined,  and  yellow 
with  pure  gold.  It  was  Tom's  exclamation  that  brought  the 
doctor  closer,  laughing.  He  was  well  used  to  the  tawdry 
trinkets  of  the  frontier  and,  therefore,  disposed  to  hold  aloof. 

"  Doctor,  it 's  a  gem !  "  said  Tom,  in  ill-suppressed  excite- 
ment. 

"  You  are  a  gem  of  a  young  surgeon,  Tom,"  laughed  he. 

[323] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  And  I  'm  hoping  you  will  shine  in  this  railroad  setting  of 
mine,  after  a  while.  But,  barring  you  and  me,  gems  are  rare 
in  this  range  of  hills." 

He  ended  with  a  low  croon  of  delight  as  he  turned  the 
glinting  strip  of  gold  to  the  slanting  rays  of  the  setting  sun 
and  saw,  further,  that  the  flakes  of  gray  matrix  rock  were 
also  shimmering  with  points  of  free  gold. 

"  You  sell  it  ?  "  he  quietly  asked  of  the  Indians. 

"  No  sell  it,"  said  Sancho  softly. 

"  Are  you  Nava j  o  ?  "  Maxon  asked  of  the  man. 

"  Quien  sdbe?  "  he  replied.     "  Who  knows?  " 

A  few  moments  later,  they  were  looking  at  the  receding 
figures  of  the  Indians  as  they  packed  down  the  steep  slope 
toward  the  recently  installed  coal-breaker  that  hung  upon 
the  mountain-side,  a  short  distance  below. 

"  Never  saw  the  like  of  that,"  said  Maxon.  "  If  they 
would  talk  they  could  tell  a  tale  that  would  start  the  Argo- 
nauts this  way  again  with  a  rush.  They  know  better,  you 
may  notice.  I  have  been  in  these  mountains  twenty  years,  all 
told,  and  that  is  the  first  gold-veined  turquoise  that  has  come 
out  of  hiding;  accident  at  that. 

"  When  I  came  out  here  a  young  man,  I  lived  for  five 
years  like  a  wild  man  among  the  Navajos.  Among  them,  but 
not  of  them,  you  understand.  Lungs.  Always  there  has 
been  the  camp-fire  tale  of  a  place  of  devils,  where  the  moun- 
tain had  eyes  like  sun  and  sky,  but  men  who  went  that  way 
came  back  no  more.  The  woman  is  Nava  jo,  but  the  quetzal 
feather  in  the  man's  brow-band  tells  an  older  story." 

"  Look,  doctor !  "  Albry  suddenly  interrupted,  as  his  hands 
clenched  and  he  started  limping  angrily  toward  the  breaker. 

But,  while  he  was  yet  straining  forward  with  creditable 

[324] 


DOC.      MAXON:      VOLUNTEER 

speed,  Maxon's  early  training  had  sent  him  bounding  far 
ahead  like  a  veteran  stag  over  the  bowlders. 

The  Indian  had  gone  into  the  door  of  the  shaft-house, 
and  as  he  came  out  he  was  struck  on  the  back,  turning  him 
half  around.  His  pack  fell  crushed  and  oozing  to  the 
ground.  In  a  staggering  half -turn  he  drew  and  sunk  a  long 
knife  into  the  framed  darkness,  then  went  down  with  a 
branching  gash  from  a  lump  of  coal  that  shot  out  of  the 
doorway  and  struck  between  his  eyes.  He  lay  there  stunned, 
clutching  the  handle  of  the  broken  knife,  while  blood  welled 
over  his  upturned  face  and  slowly  crimsoned  his  head-band 
of  white  and  golden  green.  Over  him  stood  the  woman, 
grasping  the  knife-blade,  .which,  with  a  panther's  spring, 
she  had  wrenched  from  the  door-frame. 

They  took  him  to  the  car  and  dressed  the  ragged  wound 
while  Lota  stood  motionless  upon  the  car  platform.  When 
at  last  she  ceased  her  searching  stare  at  the  shaft-house  and 
came  into  the  car  it  was  seen  that  blood  had  dripped  and 
pooled,  unheeded,  from  her  hand. 

"  There,  Sancho  !  "  said  Maxon  as  they  finished.  "  Good 
head.  Get  well  soon  now.  You  eat?  " 

The  man  nodded,  and  the  doctor,  turning  to  the  general 
manager,  who  had  been  a  silent  onlooker,  said  somewhat 
tartly :  "  Just  among  old  friends,  Sharer,  there  's  my  thirty- 
thirty  Winchester  behind  the  door  if  you  want  to  inject 
Something  peaceable  into  that  breaker  outfit."  And  the 
general  manager  grunted  in  a  way  that  meant  things  for  the 
breaker. 

"  No  Winchester,"  said  the  Indian.  "  I  kill  'em  knife  next 
time,"  he  said,  as  he  turned  his  battered  face  from  Maxon  to 
Sharer. 

[  325] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"No  kill,"  growled  Sharer.  "You  don't  kill  here,"  he 
said,  taking  a  quick  stride  toward  them. 

The  woman  crouched  a  shade  lower  where  she  stood,  near 
Maxon.  His  hand  had  gone  into  his  coat  pocket  and  come 
out  with  a  start,  empty. 

"  Careful,  Sharer,  careful,"  said  he  in  a  low  voice.  "  You 
will  have  the  squaw  upon  you  like  a  fury.  She  don't  under- 
stand all  of  it.  Best  not  to  corner  them  too  close  when  there 
is  blood  running  loose.  Feed  them." 

They  ate  hungrily,  Lota  using  her  left  hand  only,  and 
both  smoked  contentedly  for  a  time  upon  the  floor.  Then 
the  genial  effect  of  food  had  its  way  and  the  woman  sud- 
denly extended  her  right  hand,  palm  upward,  toward  the 
older  doctor.  It  showed  an  ugly  gash  from  side  to  side, 
and  in  it  lay  the  long  double-edged  blade  she  had  been 
clutching.  It  brought  Maxon  quickly  to  his  feet  and  from 
George,  the  cook  factotum,  a  shrill  laugh  that  failed  as  he 
crumpled  to  the  floor  in  a  faint  and  flattened  out  upon  the  plat- 
ter he  was  bearing  away.  The  crash  of  the  dish  roused  him 
like  a  call  to  battle.  He  gathered  the  fragments  hurriedly  and 
poised  for  flight,  the  Indians  looking  at  him  as  though  his 
was  a  regular  evening  performance. 

Sharer,  big  and  calm,  had  been  regarding  him  in  some 
surprise  and  in  the  eloquent  silence  of  which  Sharer  was  mas- 
ter. "  George?"  said  he,  as  the  cook  gained  the  swinging 
door,  "  are  you  going  to  be  a  railroad  man  or  just  a  good 
cook?" 

"  Ah  hope  Ah  am,  suh,  Mistah  Sharer.     Ah  hope  Ah  am." 

"  Shaken,  but  diplomatic,  eh?"  said  Sharer.  But  it  went 
quite  over  George's  head. 

"  Well,  not  sca'cely,  suh.  No,  suh,  Mistah  Sharer.  Ah 
did  n't  know  Ah  did.  Leastways  not  to  mean  it.  Ah  did  n't 

[  326  ] 


DOC.      MAXON:      VOLUNTEER 

do  nothin',  an'  when  the  lady  pulled  huh  —  huh  sword,  Ah 
was  thinkin'  about  a  pahty  Ah  attended  last  week,  suh,  an' 
it  disco'ven'enced  me  foh  a  few  moments.  Yes,  suh,  it  did." 

Sharer  flushed  in  an  effort  at  restraint,  then  snorted  sud- 
denly until  the  ashes  from  his  cigar  scattered  wide  upon  the 
carpet,  and  recovering  hastily,  said :  "  All  right,  then, 
George.  But  remember  what  I  told  you  when  you  came  with 
the  car.  We  are  going  to  make  a  man  of  you  here,  or  kill 
you." 

"  Yes,  suh,"  bowed  George,  as  he  backed  through  the  door. 
"  Ah  hope  you  will,  suh,  Mistah  Sharer.  Ah  hope  you  will." 

A  moment  later  the  half-taunting  laugh  of  Mack  Albry 
came,  subdued,  through  the  passage  from  the  forward  end 
and  George's  voice  rose  in  earnest  defiance :  "  Ah  thought 
it  was  a  razor,  Ah  tell  you.  An'  yo'-all  done  know  mah 
razor  was  out  heah  on  yo'  desk  wha  Ah  was  a-shavin'  yo' 
when  de  bell  went  foh  dat  lunch.  'Fraid!  Who,  me?  " 

The  plaguing  laugh  of  Albry  ran  up  and  down  the  scale 
until  Sharer,  smiling  somewhat  against  his  will,  pressed  a 
button  that  brought  Mack,  note-book  in  hand,  flushed  but 
respectful. 

"  Just  make  a  note,  Albry,"  said  Sharer.  "  Please  make  a 
note  that  I  called  you.  And  you  might  add  a  memorandum 
that  George  needs  absolute  quiet  until  he  has  finished  get- 
ting supper.  That 's  all,"  he  added  quizzically. 

When  the  first  stars  were  peering  down  over  the  canyon's 
ragged  sky-line  and  the  shadows  were  black  among  the  cliffs 
the  Indians  threaded  their  way  up  among  the  bowlders  and 
vanished  at  a  turn  of  the  rock,  upon  paths  that  zigzag  away 
into  the  purple  mountains.  As  Sharer's  modest  party  sat 
down  to  the  bright  little  supper-table  the  mournful  wail  of 
a  coyote  came  quavering  down  from  the  rim-rock  far  above 

[327] 


MARK      ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

them:  keynote  of  life  to  the  lonely  creatures  who  had  just 
passed  back  into  their  wilderness.  With  that  shivering  note 
of  almost  unearthly  longing  and  despair,  came  to  each  one  of 
them  in  the  car  a  clearer  sense  of  having  seen  a  side-light  on 
the  tragedy  of  a  passing  race.  For  a  time,  the  simple  meal 
was  served  in  silence. 

Maxon  turned,  presently,  to  Sharer,  with  softened  face 
and  said:  "There  is  a  saying,  hereabout,  that  a  Navajo 
has  no  more  gratitude  than  a  coyote  —  prowl  and  go.  But, 
since  I  have  known  much  of  them,  I  have  always  held  other- 
wise. They  care  no  more  for  gold,  as  gold,  than  the  coyote 
does,  but  they  have  us  sized  up  to  a  turn.  Most  of  us  will 
take  gold  at  any  cost.  They  want  something  to  eat,  and 
peace,  and  they  are  not  telling  what  these  hills  hold.  They 
know  it  would  mean  another  push  away  from  the  water  and 
into  the  desert  for  them.  Look  at  that." 

He  laid  the  lump  of  glinting  turquoise,  with  its  snakeskin 
thong,  in  the  circle  of  light  upon  the  table  and  smiled. 

"  It  was  in  my  coat  pocket  when  the  squaw  fronted  up  for 
war.  She  wanted  no  thanks.  That  is  n't  their  way.  They 
have  given  what  is  evidently  a  very  old  amulet,  and  they 
know  something  of  its  value.  Unless  I  am  mistaken,  many 
a  hungry  Navajo,  Aztec,  too,  perhaps,  has  fumbled  that  bit 
of  rock,  and  believed  it  would  save  him  from  the  Hunger 
Spirit  when  the  wind  howled  across  this  canyon  in  winters 
long  gone.  Gratitude,  I  call  it,  and  clean  strain  at  that." 

"  Bad  judgment,  I  call  it,"  said  Sharer,  as  he  finished  a 
careful  inspection  of  the  stone.  "  Bad  judgment,  Maxon," 
he  chuckled.  "  Those  two  operations  of  yours  were  finished 
in  thirty  minutes,  and  they  cost  the  Navajos  a  thousand 
dollars,  if  I  'm  a  judge  of  this  raw  material." 

When  the  railroad  first  crossed  the  mountains  and  went 

[328] 


DOC.      MAXON:     VOLUNTEER 

down  through  El  Soledad  Canyon,  its  coming  was  as  hateful 
to  some  natives  of  the  Rio  Grande  Valley  as  the  aggressive 
descent  of  a  blue  wasp  upon  a  spider's  web.  The  centuries- 
old  wrongs  of  ancient  Queres,  of  far  Zuni  and  Acoma,  were 
almost  as  vivid  to  them  as  though  of  yesterday,  by  reason  of 
legend,  all  too  true.  They  hoped  for  nothing  better,  then, 
at  the  hands  of  white  men.  Nor  were  they  far  amiss.  Only 
the  method  had  changed.  To  them,  the  result  would  be  the 
same  as  that  of  long  ago. 

Some  of  them  stayed  near  the  river,  to  resist  and  lose,  but 
many  scattered  into  the  web-work  of  the  Sandias,  the  San 
Ysidro  and  the  Ortiz  Mountains,  to  brood  and  readjust  them- 
selves to  the  new  conditions.  Thus  strange  partnerships  were 
formed  that  linked  the  then  disordered  present  with  the  mys- 
terious past.  Sancho  and  his  wife,  Lota,  were  of  the  second 
generation  in  the  Ortiz. 

The  old  Spanish  missions  had  set  their  farther  outposts 
high  up  in  the  Glorietas,  three  hundred  years  ago,  where 
nothing  now  remains  but  crumbling  adobe  walls  to  mark  the 
passing  of  their  ambition.  The  coming  of  a  railroad  con- 
struction camp  into  the  brooding  silence  of  those  secluded 
places  awoke  it  like  the  toppling  of  a  crag  into  the  canyon. 
Abuses  followed  and  left  their  mark  upon  the  natives,  deep 
as  the  sear  of  a  brand:  a  blend  of  hope,  fear,  hatred,  and 
resignation  that  can  be  read  nowhere  else  as  in  the  face  of 
a  Navajo  or  a  Mexican  Indian.  Both  are  instinctively  kindly 
peoples ;  makers  of  pottery  of  classic  beauty,  venders  of 
fruit,  loafers,  farmers  in  a  small  way,  and  withal  a  long- 
suffering,  patient  folk. 

When  the  Harmony  Spur  was  pushed  into  the  new  coal-fields 
toward  the  Ortiz  the  quiet  of  their  life  was  again  disturbed, 
and  again  they  suffered  variously.  None  sa:w  these  tilings 

[  329  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

with  deeper  insight  than  the  calm-eyed  doctor,  and,  therefore, 
his  anger  had  arisen  as  quickly  as  his  sympathy  when  he  saw 
the  Indian  fall. 

When  the  winter  came  down  that  year  it  swept  the  San 
Ysidro  country  with  a  vengeful  blast  and  broke  its  crest  in 
fury  upon  the  Ortiz.  One  wild  night  in  January  Sharer 
was  again  at  Harmony  with  the  car.  Being  of  the  rare  few 
who  can  conduct  big  human  operations  without  losing  touch 
of  the  finer  humanities,  he  was  there,  for  the  most  part,  be- 
cause he  was  anxious  about  Maxon,  who  had  taken  his  wife 
and  children  to  St.  Louis  since  the  summer,  gone  through  his 
dark  agony  alone,  and  left  his  motherless  children  there  to 
outgrow  their  sorrow  in  the  old  home  that  first  had  sheltered 
him.  Enderby  and  McPeltrie  being  most  available  for  the 
short  extra  trip  out  of  Villa  Rica  that  evening,  had  brought 
the  car  up  with  their  engine.  McPeltrie,  chatting  with  the 
conductor,  stood  guard  in  the  engine  cab,  while  Enderby, 
accepting  Sharer's  customary  invitation,  had  joined  those  who 
sat  in  the  car. 

Maxon  had  brightened  in  the  genial  gruffness  of  Sharer, 
and,  with  Enderby,  was  sketching  events  of  other  winters  in 
the  mountains;  of  sunny  open  years  when  the  air  was  like 
an  elixir,  and  again,  of  bleak  months  when  cattle  lay  starved 
in  the  snow  for  miles  along  the  railroad.  They  drew  mod- 
estly from  the  deep  well  of  experience,  as  strong  men  are 
apt  to  do,  and  presently  the  talk  turned  to  the  almost  im- 
possible existence  of  the  desert  Indians.  From  that  it  was 
but  a  thought  to  the  incident  of  the  summer. 

"  I  have  observed  those  Indians  closely  since  that  affair 
at  the  breaker,"  said  Maxon,  "  and  their  souls  are  as  white 
as  stars.  When  Ruth,  my  wife,  fell  sick  before  we  —  went 
East,"  he  continued,  with  a  catch  in  his  deep  voice,  "  I 

[330] 


DOC.      MAXON:      VOLUNTEER 

brought  her  from  Alta  Vista  down  to  Villa  Rica,  you  know, 
hoping  something  from  the  slightly  lesser  altitude.  There 
was  nothing  eatable  in  this  country  that  can  be  had  by  an 
Indian  for  the  gathering  and  packing  twenty  miles  on  foot 
that  we  did  not  find  upon  our  door-step  every  sun-up  while 
we  stayed  there.  And  one  morning  last  October,  when  she 
seemed  to  be  fading  out  with  the  leaves  in  spite  of  all  I 
could  do,  I  suppose  the  Indians  saw  it.  At  any  rate,  they 
appeared  from  somewhere  on  the  mountain  above  the  house, 
and  came,  unobserved  as  they  thought,  into  the  door-yard. 
There,  I  saw  them  plant  a  little  cross  of  green  cedar  boughs 
under  her  window,  and  upon  it,  tied  with  snakeskin,  was  a 
rough  duplicate  of  the  turquoise  and  gold  amulet  that  you  saw 
last  summer,  but  fresh  from  the  rock.  Queer  freak  of  old 
mission  work  and  savage  fetich  probably,  but  they  were 
doing  what  they  could  to  help  me  ward  off  the  evil  day,  and 
if  the  time  ever  comes  I  will  make  good  my  debt  to  them 
when  they  need  it." 

"  Maxon,"  said  Sharer,  "  they  must  have  the  ledge  that 
holds  that  stuff." 

"  They  may  have,"  replied  Maxon.  "  I  did  n't  ask.  I 
have  seen  nothing  of  them  since  I  returned  from  St.  Louis. 
The  snow  shut  down  soon  afterward,  and  I  fear  it  goes 
hard  with  them." 

In  the  pause  that  followed  the  moaning  of  the  wind  in 
the  canyon  keyed  to  a  shriller  note,  and  a  fierce  blast  struck 
down  upon  the  car  from  the  heights.  Dry  snow  scurried 
and  hissed  against  the  windows  and  the  car  timbers  crackled 
in  the  wrenching  blast.  Sharer  was  inwardly  congratulating 
himself  that  the  short  twilight  had  been  used  to  complete  the 
out-of-doors  inspection  before  the  night  and  the  storm  came 
down  upon  them.  With  drawn  shades,  they  sat  around  the 

[331] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

table,  newly  cleared  of  its  supper  wares,  and  settled  deeper 
into  the  genial  haze  of  smoke  and  warmth  that  comforts  a 
smoker  on  a  winter  night.  They  were  soothed  by  the  purring 
of  the  road  engine  which  McPeltrie's  return  to  it  had  set 
up,  while  it  stood  with  the  car  awaiting  the  permissive  order 
to  return  to  Villa  Rica.  And  then  came  Maxon's  oppor- 
tunity. 

As  a  fiercer  blast  swept  down  upon  them,  the  end  door  of  the 
car  swung  open  a  little  space,  then  closed  with  a  loose  snap  of 
the  latch.  Sharer  rang  a  call  that  brought  the  cook  from 
his  after-supper  nap  promptly  begun. 

"  George,"  said  he,  "  set  the  latch  on  that  end  door,  and 
when  we  get  back  to  Chicago  have  it  examined." 

George  set  the  door  ajar,  glanced  at  the  latch,  and  peered 
into  the  blackness  outside,  then  closed  the  door  quickly  and 
held  the  knob,  his  sleepy  eyes  suddenly  gleaming  round  and 
white  in  the  gas-light. 

"  Yes,  suh,  Mistah  Sharer,"  he  announced  in  a  choking 
whisper.  "  They  's  a  lady  there,  suh." 

"  A  lady  ? "  burst  out  Sharer.  "  Not  this  far  from 
State  Street  in  a  blizzard,  George.  Are  you  quite  awake? 
Does  the  lady  seem  to  have  a  razor?  " 

"  No,  suh,  Mistah  Sharer,  the  lady  don't  seem  to  have 
none  watevah.  It 's  the  lady  wha'  had  the  knife  las'  summah, 
suh." 

"  Open,"  said  Sharer. 

Lota  came  in  wrapped  in  a  blanket  that  shed  snow  and 
water  like  an  oilskin.  She  covered  her  face  with  the  old 
woollen  treasure  and  crouched  in  a  pitiful  heap  of  chrome  red 
and  yellow  and  black  in  the  corner  just  within  the  door. 

"  Food,  tea,  George,"  said  Sharer  briefly. 

[332] 


DOC.      MAXON:      VOLUNTEER 

"How  now,  Lota?"  said  Maxon,  and  getting  no  answer 
to  that,  or  his  further  queries,  said,  as  George  returned: 
"  Come,  eat.  Eat,"  he  urged,  as  she  made  no  sound. 

Hunger  soon  came  uppermost  and  the  famished  woman 
ate  greedily  and  drank  of  the  comforting  tea. 

"Where  is  Sancho?"  Maxon  continued. 

Then  her  control  gave  way  and  bursting  into  a  low,  wild, 
guttural  of  Spanish  and  Navajo,  she  poured  out  her  tale  of 
trouble.  To  Maxon  it  was  all  plain  as  though  of  his  own 
tongue,  and  his  face  went  white.  In  a  moment  she  sprang 
up,  saying: 

"  He  no  eat.     No  sleep.     Much  sick.     You  come?  " 

*'  Yes.     I  come,"  replied  Maxon. 

Turning  toward  Sharer,  he  said :  "  It 's  black  smallpox, 
Sharer.  She  had  it  lightly,  years  ago,  she  says.  I  am  im- 
mune. I  've  got  to  go  now  or  he  will  be  over  the  cliff  before 
morning.  When  you  get  down  to  Villa  Rica  to-night,  fu- 
migate the  car  at  once.  You  will  go  clear  of  the  pest." 

"  Maxon,  you  are  wild,  to  start  on  such  a  trip  to-night ! 
Wait  here  until  daylight,  if  they  must  have  you.  I  '11  lay  up 
with  the  car,  if  you  will  wait,"  Sharer  protested  fiercely. 

But  the  doctor  had  not  ceased  his  swift  preparations,  and 
shortly  he  bade  them  good-bye  and  trudged  off  through  the 
waning  storm  with  his  Winchester  slung  across  his  back,  the 
woman  packing  ahead  with  medicines  and  food.  Rough  go- 
ing, he  called  it,  but  added,  with  a  characteristic  grasp  for 
the  brighter  side,  that  there  would  be  a  spring  thaw  before  he 
came  down  again,  if  the  case  went  right. 

"  No,  Tom,"  he  declared  firmly,  against  the  young  sur- 
geon's appeal  to  be  taken.  "  This  is  your  first  opportunity 
to  patch  up  the  division  until  I  return. 

[333] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

"  Just  put  him  to  it,  Sharer,  will  you?  "  he  called  back  at 
starting,  and  Sharer,  for  once,  swore  under  his  breath,  with- 
out at  all  meaning  to  impeach  the  fitness  of  young  Tom. 

So,  they  dropped  hurriedly  down  to  Villa  Rica  that  night, 
the  black  canyon  closing  in  behind  their  tail  lights  with  a 
hoarse  roar  like  that  of  a  storm  at  sea. 


[334-] 


CHAPTER  XXI 
ENDERBY'S  CHOICE 

IT  may  be  that  the  rumored  retirement  of  Doc.  Maxon, 
noised  abroad  soon  after  that  of  Bunnel  and  of  Muller, 
had  set  Enderby  to  a  closer  reckoning  with  the  years.     But, 
be  that  as  it  may,  once  he  had  reached  a  conclusion,  he  set 
about  its  enactment  promptly,  as  was  his  habit. 

"  Dinwiddy,"  said  he  in  one  of  their  closer  exchanges,  "  I 
sometimes  misdoubt  me  whether  a  man  of  my  years  ought  to 
sit  up  at  the  front,  much  longer,  on  these  fast  passenger 
runs.  They  are  getting  heavier  all  the  time,  with  plenty  of 
people  always  perked  up,  hopeful  and  believing,  back  of  the 
engine. 

"  There  's  never  much  that  I  doubt  it,  you  mind,  or  I  'd 
have  said  so  sooner.  But,  some,  Dinwiddy,  some!  And 
that 's  time  to  come  away.  Ain't  it,  boy  ?  " 

A  strange  blend  of  pain  and  satisfaction  came  upon  the 
seasoned  "  boy's  "  face  as  he  listened,  but  he  looked  squarely 
into  Enderby's  eyes  and  answered  manfully : 

"  Yes.  It  is  time,  Mark.  It  is  not  that  you  don't  get 
there,  but  —  it  is  time,  Pap. 

"What  do  you  want,  instead?  Your  rights  are  good  for 
anything  that  you  can  handle." 

"  I  *ve  talked  it  over,  a  good  bit,  with  my  wife,"  replied 
Enderby,  "  and  we  reached  a  sort  of  compromise.  She  was 
all  for  having  me  drop  out,  complete  and  joyful,  but  I  can't 
go  that,  just  yet,  Dinwiddy. 

[335  ] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

"  Nope,  I  can't.  It 's  a  long  ways  to  nowhere,  and  I  want 
to  let  go  sort  of  easy  and  graceful ;  make  a  mild  spat- 
ter and  a  few  ripples  in  the  railroad  pool  before  my  name  is 
wiped  off  of  the  call-board,"  he  finished,  with  a  smile  that 
almost  hid  a  hint  of  moisture  that  had  sprung  unbidden  to 
his  eyes.  "  I  want  one  of  the  daylight  freight  runs  to  Crys- 
tal, if  you  are  as  sure  as  I  am  that  I  'm  good  for  it." 

"  You  are  good  for  it,"  said  Dinwiddy. 

That  was  about  all  of  the  incident  that  definitely  passed 
Enderby,  for  a  time,  of  his  own  choice,  to  the  slower-going, 
but  still  important  freight  runs,  and,  meanwhile,  those  who 
were  directing  the  development  of  Joe  Harper  were  shaping 
his  course  back  to  the  mountains. 

"  Harper,"  said  the  general  manager  when  he  had  called 
him  in  for  that  purpose,  "  without  going  into  the  reasons 
•why,  I  should  like  to  have  you  take  what  may  seem  a  step 
backward.  I  should  like  it  if  you  would  go  to  Alta  Vista  and 
report  to  Dinwiddy  for  whatever  duty  he  may- assign  to  you. 

"  If  you  decide  to  do  so,  I  can  assure  you  only  that  your 
further  work  will  be  observed  with  a  good  deal  of  interest,  and 
that  you  will  be  advanced  as  rapidly  as  seems  best  for  the 
service." 

That  was  all.  He  watched  Harper's  face  closely  for  the 
few  moments  taken  for  decision  and  apparently  read  there 
something  that  was  far  from  displeasing. 

"  I  will  go,  Mr.  Sharer,"  said  Harper  quietly,  and  when 
he  left  the  room  Sharer's  hand  released  his  from  a  clinging 
grip  which  had  in  it  something  of  the  strength  of  a  buried 
ambition  which  once  had  centred  upon  his  own  son,  Dave. 

When  Harper  came  back  to  Alta  Vista  as  a  regulation  be- 
ginner among  Dinwiddy's  forces  he  was  so  green  that  he  was 
proud  of  it,  or  at  least  he  said  so  in  a  cheerful  and  convincing 

[336] 


ENDERBY       S         CHOICE 

way,  and  nobody  questioned  his  right  to  take  his  own  measure. 

The  stalwart  little  division  point,  faithfully  guarding  the 
New  Mexico  end  of  Big  Pass,  through  which  the  railroad 
climbs  loftily  up  many  steep  and  crooked  miles  on  the  Colo- 
rado side,  and,  similarly,  drops  cautiously  down  the  southern 
side  into  the  shelter  of  the  town,  received  him  with  its  usual 
cautious  friendliness.  Beyond  that,  nothing,  except  that 
even  Dodson  found  in  him  no  glaring  outward  defect.  The 
earlier  promise  of  the  oculist  had  been  fulfilled,  and  Harper, 
freed  of  his  offending  glasses,  was  no  longer  a  "  four-eyed 
cuss." 

The  grim  wholesomeness  that  is  born  there  of  plenty  of  sun 
in  an  atmosphere  more  than  a  mile  above  sea-level;  and  the 
half-circle  of  rim-rock  that  aspires  further  skyward  back  of 
the  town,  giving  accent  to  the  open  reaches  that  spread  away 
invitingly  to  the  southward  and  meet  the  far  tablelands  as  the 
sea  meets  the  sky,  altogether  form  a  prospect  that  clears  the 
mental  vision.  .  Young  hearts,  properly  attuned,  there  catch 
the  keynote  of  their  surroundings  promptly ;  and  so  it  proved 
with  Harper. 

When  Dinwiddy  set  him  regularly  to  firing  a  freight  engine 
over  the  mountain  for  Mark  Enderby  everybody  looked  sat- 
isfied ;  which  meant  a  great  deal  at  Alta  Vista.  Together, 
they  fitted  into  an  engine  cab  like  the  parts  of  a  good  design. 
Moreover,  Mark,  like  old  Bill  Amsler,  who  stumped  about  de- 
fiantly on  his  oak  leg  and  presided  over  the  varied  and  some- 
times vivid  destinies  of  the  livery  stable,  just  off  the  plaza, 
was  considered  an  authority  on  local  history.  This  had  its 
advantages  for  a  starter  in  the  ranks,  such  as  Harper,  and 
also,  it  was  to  Harper's  advantage  that,  aside  from  their 
fund  of  local  lore  in  common,  Enderby  and  Amsler  were 
quite  different. 

[  337  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

The  town  was  quiet  when  Harper  arrived.  There  had  not 
been  a  wreck  or  a  fire  in  the  year  past  and  no  other  prime 
cause  for  excitement,  yet,  they  who  knew  Alta  Vista's  quiet 
moods  knew  that  the  guns  were  all  oiled  and  the  hose-cart  well 
housed.  All  manner  of  men  appeared,  now  and  again,  in 
Alta  Vista's  shifting  human  sands,  and  Enderby,  so  far  as 
plainly  written  surface  indications  would  allow,  welcomed  all 
alike.  If,  then,  they  appeared  to  him  worth  while,  he  tried, 
further,  to  help  them.  Otherwise,  he  left  them  to  their  own 
devices.  Joe  came  late  in  the  break-up  of  winter.  But  not 
until  well  along  in  the  spring  did  Enderby's  ideas  of  prac- 
tically assimilating  him  into  Alta  Vista's  public  affairs  take 
definite  form ;  and  then  it  was  Joe  who  gave  the  occasion. 

One  morning  in  May,  they  left  Crystal,  on  the  Colorado 
side,  starting  while  it  was  yet  dark,  on  their  all-day  freight 
run  over  the  mountains  to  Alta  Vista.  Joe  stood  in  the  gang- 
way, facing  east,  an  hour  later,  as  the  engine  throbbed  out 
its  measured  strength,  laboring  toward  the  top  of  a  great 
earth-billow  in  the  foothills.  The  sun  gave  imminent  signs 
of  climbing  up  back  of  the  big  mountain  range,  and  darkness 
fled  swiftly. 

The  Spanish  Peaks,  in  the  friendly  air  of  coming  summer, 
looked  twin  spires  of  gold,  frosted  with  the  crystal  of  their 
late-lingering  ice  and  snow.  Pike's  Peak,  more  remote,  a 
mere  shadow  against  the  growing  sky-line,  took  on  slowly  the 
exquisite  blend  of  violet  and  steel  that  makes  the  burnt  ame- 
thyst almost  a  precious  stone.  Below,  and  all  about  the 
track,  awoke  the  nameless  beauty  of  the  vast  silent  reaches 
of  the  foothills  and  the  plains  in  early  morning,  as  when  the 
coming  sun  sends  over  the  mountain  barriers  an  advance- 
guard  of  light  to  reconnoitre  for  the  occupation  of  a  brilliant 
day  in  the  high  altitudes  of  the  south. 

[338] 


ENDERBY       S          CHOICE 

The  shadows  receded  deeper  among  the  draws  and  coulees. 
The  star-flecked  dome  of  the  sky  whitened  under  the  insistent 
light  of  the  sun.  It  flushed  pink,  then  fiery  red  at  the  sky- 
line, and  with  a  flash  fit  to  herald  the  launching  of  a  new-born 
sun  in  a  new  orbit,  the  first  clear  rays  shone  gloriously  over 
the  rocky  battlements,  gilding  the  plains  and  making  a  heroic 
creature  of  the  laboring  engine,  and  fell  softly  upon  the  grimy 
face  of  Harper,  with  an  all-embracing  touch  that  made  them, 
all  alike,  almost  divine,  beneath  the  deepening  blue  of  the 
wide  sky. 

Harper  silently  revelled,  anew,  in  the  glory  of  it,  until  his 
soul  could  bear  no  more. 

**  Ye  gods  !  "  he  suddenly  cried,  with  a  wide  sweep  of  his  cap 
against  the  gently  stirring  air.  "  You  great  and  everlasting 
Phoenix ! 

"  Mark,  are  you  seeing  it?  Why  don't  more  people  live 
out  here  where  they  can  breathe  air  and  live  life  ?  I  'd  like 
to  do  something  for  this  country,  in  return  for  what  it  is  doing 
for  me." 

"  She  's  fine.  The  finest !  And  I  'm  always  seeing  it," 
said  Enderby,  with  a  pleased  sidelong  glance  at  Joe's  up- 
turned face.  "  Look  out  for  your  fire  now.  I  'm  going  to 
make  a  run  through  this  sag,  for  the  top." 

When  they  were  well  over  the  swell  and  drifting  steadily 
down  the  other  side,  Enderby  resumed  without  prelude : 

"  We  've  got  one  of  them  over  at  Alta  Vista."  But,  Joe's 
face  remaining  blank,  he  added,  "  Phoenixes ;  leastways, 
that 's  what  we  called  it." 

"  Phoenixes  ?  "  echoed  Joe. 

"  Yes.  That 's  what  young  Tom  Maxon  named  it.  It 
come  up  the  time  we  organized  the  Alta  Vista  fire-department, 
a  few  years  back.  He  was  n't  much  more  than  a  big,  happy 

[339] 


MARK     EN DERBY:     ENGINEER 

cub,  at  that  time,  and  he  put  life  and  spirit  enough  into  the 
proceedings,  at  the  start,  to  nigh  about  wreck  the  town. 

"  Tom  was  my  fireman  then.  Doc.  Maxon  brought  him 
out  here  from  the  East,  and  raised  him  like  one  of  his  own. 
Doc.  allowed  he  wanted  to  toughen  him  up  some  before  he 
commenced  reading  medicine." 

"  Have  you  a  fire-department?  Who  is  chief?  "  queried 
Joe. 

"  We  've  got  about  one  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  pres- 
sure of  clear  water  over  there,"  said  Mark,  "  from  up  back 
of  the  Geyser  Peak.  And  we  've  got  a  hose-carriage  and  a 
Phoenix,"  he  continued,  with  twinkling  eyes,  "  but  I  ain't  chief 
now.  We  're  kind  of  disorganized.  While  the  balance  hung 
about  even  between  Alta  Vista  and  Villa  Rica,  some  of  us 
moved  away  and  the  like. 

"  Mebbe  tell  you  about  it  when  we  get  over  there  this  even- 
ing, if  they  don't  hold  us  too  long  on  the  mountain,"  he 
added  a  moment  later,  and  turned  to  look  from  the 
cab  window  out  over  the  soft  green  plains,  where  wonderful 
carpets  of  tender  grass,  and  square  miles  of  pink  wild  phlox 
and  brilliant  dwarf  sunflowers  stretched  away  to  the  distant 
horizon  and  rippled  and  swayed  in  the  breeze;  a  glad  and 
smiling  prospect,  until  the  desert  should  grow  bolder  in  the 
summer's  heat,  and  crowd  in  around  the  feet  of  the  moun- 
tains, in  the  withering,  age-long  struggle  to  wear  them  down. 

All  in  good  time,  they  rolled  down  off  of  the  last  line  of 
foothills,  into  the  deep  defile  at  Sentinel,  the  coaling-station, 
and  soon  they  were  ready,  with  helpers  added,  for  the  long  pull 
over  the  Pass.  Shackston,  conductor,  with  a  bunch  of  wild 
phlox  tucked  into  his  hat-band,  came  striding  forward  confi- 
dently to  the  engines.  He  handed  up  through  orders,  with 
rights  to  Alta  Vista,  without  a  meeting-point. 

[340] 


ENDERBY       S         CHOICE 

"  Take  them  away,"  said  he,  and  went  to  the  rear. 

The  red  board  dropped,  the  two  big  consolidations  sent  the 
echoes  bounding  and  rebounding  between  the  cliffs,  in  the 
start  for  the  mountain,  and  Joe,  drawing  on  his  heavy  gloves, 
called  impersonally  to  the  chattering  waters  of  the  nearby 
Geyser  Water  and  to  the  flying  echoes :  "  Laugh !  You 
don't  feel  any  better  than  we  do.  Do  they,  Mark  ?  "  he  added, 
as  he  turned  to  his  fire. 

"  Reckon  not,"  said  Enderby,  and  opened  out  a  little 
stronger. 

The  Pass,  always  majestic,  seemed  in  a  friendly  mood  in 
the  bright  afternoon.  Winding  noisily  in  and  out  among 
the  tender  shimmering  greenery  of  advanced  spring,  the  en- 
gines voiced  a  mighty  song  of  greeting  to  the  heights.  As 
the  hours  passed,  the  heavy  climb  became  a  triumphal  march 
among  a  nodding,  whispering  host,  where  each  turn  upon  the 
shoulders  of  the  mountain  discovered  a  deeper  beauty,  and  the 
sombre  shadows  in  the  depths  seemed  brooding  in  happy 
peace. 

Joe  stood  often  in  the  gangway  mopping  his  heated  face ; 
caught  great  breaths  of  the  rare  clear  air,  and  looked  upon 
it  all  with  delight,  scarce  lessened  by  his  heavy  labor. 

Enderby,  well  seasoned  and  practical,  but  not  less  keenly 
alive  to  the  unfolding  beauty,  settled  back  loosely  upon  his 
cushion.  Missing  none  of  the  multitude  of  sounds  that  told 
of  the  working  of  the  engine,  and  losing  none  of  the  mute 
messages  of  the  familiar  landscape,  he  went  back  over  mem- 
ory's long  trail  to  earlier  days  in  the  mountains.  At  last, 
the  regular  clink  of  the  shovel  and  the  fire-door,  the  purring 
of  the  injector,  and  the  slow  beat  of  the  engines  blended  in  an 
heroic  lullaby  that  soothed  and  gently  buffeted  his  tired 
senses.  The  engine  coupled  on  ahead  gave  a  peculiar  sense 

[341] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

of  security  and  half -retirement.  A  pleasant  thrill  of  relax- 
ation pervaded  his  body.  He  thought  with  increasing  effort. 
And  then,  just  among  ourselves  —  this,  Mark  nodded  and  slept 
peacefully,  at  disconnected  periods  of  a  few  seconds  each,  in 
the  midst  of  the  tumult.  He  even  dreamed  a  bit  in  a  jumbled 
sort  of  way,  about  the  last  run  of  the  old  Alta  Vista  fire  bri- 
gade, until  the  leading  engine  came  in  sight  of  the  target 
near  the  top  of  the  mountain.  When  the  head  engine  whis- 
tled for  the  board,  he  was  at  once  wide  awake,  with  an  apol- 
ogetic smile  toward  Joe. 

"  We  were  coming  along  with  the  rest  of  them  all  right, 
Mark,"  laughed  Joe. 

"  I  was  n't  missing  anything.  I  heard  her  all  the  way," 
said  Enderby ;  and  men  who  know  of  these  things  would 
guardedly  agree  to  that,  even  though  they  first  tried  to  look 
virtuously  astonished. 

When  the  threatening  descents  of  the  rugged  pass  had, 
under  Enderby's  skilful  hand  and  keen  eyes  in  which  there 
was  then  no  hint  of  sleep,  surrendered  them  into  the  safer 
levels  of  the  yard  in  the  wide  valley  at  Alta  Vista,  and  their 
work  was  done,  Mark  led  the  way  to  a  shed-like  building  at 
one  side  of  the  plaza.  Turning  a  key  in  the  rusty  lock  he 
threw  open  the  door.  The  interior  showed  a  two-wheeled 
hose-cart  of  odd  but  strong  build,  faded,  but  still  rivalling 
the  rainbow  in  colors.  The  room  was  bare  of  furniture  and 
from  the  middle  of  the  ridge-pole  hung  a  stout  rope  that  led 
to  a  bell-hammer  in  the  small  cupola  above.  The  bell  looked 
remarkably  like  an  old  locomotive  bell. 

Mark  seated  himself  upon  the  tongue  of  the  hose-cart  and 
said,  "  Sit  down,  Joe.  This  is  the  fire  outfit  we  were  talk- 
ing about  this  morning.  We  ought  to  be  reorganized,  and  I 

[342] 


ENDERBY       S         CHOICE 

believe  you  're  the  man  to  help  do  it.  There  's  been  a  sight 
of  quiet  talk  about  it  since  we  all  moved  back  from  Villa  Rica, 
and  nothing  done.  The  town  's  a  coming  town  and  we  've 
got  to  fraternize  and  grow. 

"  I  told  you,  partly,  how  we  come  to  call  this  carriage 
4  Phoenix,'  and  how  Tom  Maxon  stood  on  that,  but,  for  my- 
self, I  never  had  none  too  much  use  for  the  name. 

"  Always  seemed  to  me  like  a  bird  that  has  no  more  sense 
than  to  set  itself  afire  and  then  has  luck  to  be  raised  up  from 
her  own  ashes,  ain't,  in  my  judgment,  a  noways  reliable  nor 
dependable  bird,  if  it  goes  and  repeats  such  bold  experiments, 
indefinite. 

"  But  young  Tom  had  a  book  about  it,  and  some  other 
freaks  of  nature,  and  when  we  joked  him  pretty  hard  about 
it,  he  just  laughed  and  said  it  was  all  right  to  have  it,  because 
that 's  the  habits  of  Phoenixes.  And  just  to  finish  him,  we 
said  mebbe  we  'd  better  get  a  Phoenix  for  the  hose-cart.  We 
let  it  go  at  that  till  the  next  meeting  night. 

"  Tom  just  laughed  some  more,  and  the  first  we  know,  he 
went  up  on  the  rim-rock  with  a  rifle  and  shot  the  old  hen 
eagle  that  had  been  nesting  and  yelling  and  hatching  and 
fighting  and  —  oh,  just  say  general  housekeeping  up  there, 
about  like  folks,  ever  since  the  railroad  come  through. 

"  The  mule-team  freighters  in  the  wagon  trains  that  lined 
out  Cimarron  way  with  provisions  and  stuff,  said  the  birds 
had  been  catching  prairie  dogs  for  a  hundred  miles  around 
Alta  Vista  and  the  Cimarron  country,  as  far  back  as  they 
could  remember.  They  took  it  personal,  same  's  if  they  'd 
been  shot  at  and  missed,  or  nigh  about  so. 

"  You  see,  Joe,  it 's  a  mighty  short  span  of  years  back  to 
the  actual  frontier  days  of  this  town  that  we  're  all  proud  of, 

[343] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

and  there  's  me  and  many  another  here  that 's  seen  near  about 
the  whole  making  of  it.  And,  at  that,  there  's  plenty  of  dis- 
tance yet  to  go,  before  she  's  a  metropolis. 

"  Well,  it  was  a  freighter  that  nailed  Tom  coming  down  off 
the  cliff  with  the  old  hen  eagle,  dead.  Pleased  as  a  young  re- 
triever with  his  first  sage-hen,  Tom  was.  The  freighter  set 
up  his  long  yell  amongst  some  more  of  them  -old  silver-tips 
that  were  stocking  up  on  canned  and  bottle  goods,  over  along 
Main  Street.  And  that 's  about  the  closest  Tom  '11  ever  come 
to  being  hung,  till  he  's  indicted  regular  and  can't  prove  an 
alibi. 

"  You  might  not  think  it,  but  I  'm  an  awful  good  shot,  if 
I  do  say  it  myself,  and  most  of  all  with  a  Winchester,"  inter- 
jected Enderby,  with  no  appearance  of  boasting. 

"  Of  course,  if  they  'd  shoot  at  me  first  and  get  me,  like 
from  behind  the  coal  chutes,  over  yonder,  why  they  'd  get  me. 
But,  Harper,  if  they  'd  shoot  at  me  and  miss  me,"  he  continued 
with  half-closed  eyelids  and  a  confident  smile,  "  I  'd  sure  get 
them  before  they  could  shoot  again.  There  was  mighty  good 
shooting,  that  day, —  plenty  of  it, — to  get  him  away  from 
them  after  they  'd  got  a  lariat  onto  his  neck.  But  we  con- 
vinced them  without  anybody  being  hurt  beyond  patching. 

"  We  were  all  worked  up  for  a  fire  company,  about  then, 
and  that  made  it  look  better  for  Tom  than  if  he  had  just  shot 
the  eagle  for  fun.  But  I  would  n't  advise  anybody  to  try  to 
get  a  fresh  one  off  of  the  cliff,  even  now.  The  old  rooster 
eagle  got  himself  another  mate  and  they  're  living  up  there 
now.  Folks  here  feel  that  they  need  them  in  the  landscape." 

Joe  arose  from  his  perch  beside  Enderby  and  turned  to 
look  up  to  where  a  pair  of  golden  eagles  were  circling  and 
screaming  in  the  waning  sunlight  that  still  bathed  the  top  of 
the  sombre  cliff  and  tipped  the  dwarf  cedars  with  purple  and 

[344] 


ENDERBY'S         CHOICE 

gold.  His  broad  young  shoulders  heaved  convulsively  once 
or  twice,  but  not  quite  sure  whether  he  was  being  joked  or 
seriously  measured,  his  face  was  composed  and  his  mellow 
voice  steady  and  respectful  when  he  turned  again  to  Mark 
and  said : 

"  I  believe  we  don't  need  a  fresh  bird.  I  think  the  old  one 
might  do,  if  you  have  it." 

"  Suits  me.  We  have  it,"  said  Mark,  and  made  no  further 
comment  until,  with  a  look  of  reverie  in  his  keen  eyes,  he  re- 
marked :  "  It  was  a  fire  that  lost  Amsler  his  leg,  I  might 
say,  if  we  were  talking  about  Bill's  leg.  But,  let 's  get  on 
about  this  Phoenix  business." 

"Didn't  Bill  lose  his  leg  on  the  road?"  said  Joe  with 
studied  care. 

"  No,"  said  Enderby  with  prompt  and  somewhat  unac- 
countable emphasis.  "  Bill  never  took  to  the  road  except 
about  once  or  twice  a  month  when  he  turned  out  with  a  gun 
to  collect  his  bills  from  the  erring  railroad  wayfarers.  I 
know  how  he  lost  that  leg,  though,  and  while  I  deplore  his  loss, 
he  sure  got  what  was  coming  to  him,  and  not  much  more. 
I  reckon  since  you  're  to  live  here,  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
about  that,  because,  as  Doc.  Maxon  would  put  it,  it  will  give 
you  some  valuable  points  of  view,  touching  things  past  and 
present. 

"  This  fire  outfit  dates  back  to  the  time  when  Alta  Vista  got 
drunk  once  a  month  regular,  before  the  pay-car  could  pull 
out  of  town ;  and  the  pay-car  always  hurried.  I  used  to  pull 
the  paymaster  then.  Bill  Amsler  was  always  counted  due  to 
have  the  magazine  of  his  rifle  as  full  as  the  rest  of  him,  in 
about  half  an  hour  after  the  car  got  in.  And  in  ten  minutes 
more  he  was  due  to  march  down  the  straight  track  in  the  back- 
shop  and  stampede  all  them  machinists  over  there  while  he 

[345] 


MARK      EN DERBY:      ENGINEER 

searched  out  the  people  he  was  looking  for  —  horse-hire  ac- 
counts, or  most  anything  in  the  way  of  a  grudge,  that  he 
was  holding  back.  But  he  always  made  the  roundhouse  gang 
run  for  cover  first,  on  general  principles,  and  none  of  them 
ever  stopped  to  ask  him  for  his  card,  or  did  he  belong  to  the 
union.  They  just  lit  out  and  done  it  quick. 

"  Why  did  they  allow  it?  Joe,  a  railroad  in  a  new  country 
has  to  allow  lots  of  things,  just  at  first,  that  it  don't  have  to 
allow  later  on.  But,  I  'm  coming  to  Bill's  allowance. 

"  Take  a  look,  some  time,  over  there  in  the  shop  office  where 
Chubb,  then  shop  foreman,  was  a  little  slow  about  getting  his 
head  out  of  range  during  one  of  Bill's  festivals.  Bill  put  a 
.45  acorn  bullet  through  the  edge  of  the  door-casing  and 
crimped  the  poke  of  Chubb's  cap,  scandalous,  before  Chubb 
could  drop  under  the  table  and  crawl  out  the  back  door  be- 
hind the  shop  boilers.  Bill  was  mean  all  through  when  he 
was  drunk,  although  I  don't  deny  there  were  some  live  reasons 
working  in  the  shops  now  and  again.  But,  he  was  special 
mean  the  night  he  got  the  leg,  among  that  Paradise  gang  that 
had  rode  over. 

"  You  know  about  Paradise  ?  No  ?  Well  it 's  about  ten 
miles,  t  'other  way  from  our  run,  down  the  division  here  and 
some  back  from  the  track.  They  always  wanted  to  control 
the  water  from  Geyser  Peak.  They  were  fighting  us  pretty 
hard  for  it  then,  but  they  did  n't  make  it,  and  now  they  never 
will.  Alta  Vista  is  the  big  bee,  from  now  on." 

Enderby's  eyes  kindled  in  reflective  silence,  but  he  soon 
resumed : 

"  I  'm  for  peace  and  kind  relations  with  folks,  and  the  Par- 
adisers  were  bad  enemies,  but,  if  you  '11  look  this  carriage 
over,  in  particular  the  back  end  and  the  wheels,  you  can  see 
there  was  some  reason  to  it." 

[846] 


ENDERBY       S         CHOICE 

Harper  walked  to  the  rear  of  the  cart  and  read  aloud  from 
the  dim  gilt  lettering:  "  Phoenix  of  Alta  Vista.  T'  ell  with 
Paradise ! " 

"  That 's  it,"  nodded  Enderby.  "  I  never  did  favor  giving 
out  that  insulting  sentiment,  in  public,  no  matter  what  a  man 
might  be  thinking.  But  once  it 's  out,  you  've  got  to  sup- 
port it,  and  stand  by  your  town.  It  was  calculated  to  start 
things.  Things  that  there  was  no  other  way  of  stopping," 
he  finished,  after  a  thoughtful  pause. 

"  It  looked  mighty  sassy  when  we  had  that  Phoenix  spread- 
winged  on  the  front.  Go  look  into  that  cupboard  in  the  cor- 
ner. Tom  Maxon  and  the  painter  in  the  back-shop  figured 
out  that  adornment.  But,  you  must  not  forget  that,  in  a 
new  community  like  we  were,  the  first  need  is  to  kindle  public 
spirit.  This  helped." 

The  opened  cupboard  showed  a  golden  eagle,  of  noble  size, 
beautifully  mounted,  with  wide-spread  wings  and  opened  beal  . 
But  it  had  been  treated  to  a  coat  of  gold-leaf  over  a  coat  of 
shellac,  and  the  rich  plumage  was  ruffled  and  tufted  by  the 
tracks  of  several  bullets. 

"  For  myself,  I  never  took  much  notice  of  Bill  Amsler's 
doings,"  Enderby  continued,  "  until  my  wife,  and  our  neigh- 
bor, Mrs.  Sones,  went  down  to  Main  Street  to  see  the  Phoenix 
go  by,  when  the  hide-house  burned,  over  there  on  the  edge  of 
the  arroyo.  Big  events  were  scarce,  and,  naturally  enough, 
my  folks  went  down  with  the  rest  of  the  town. 

"  The  Paradise  gang  had  rode  in  early  that  evening  and 
it  was  light  yet  when  the  fire  broke  out.  It  was  a  habit,  then, 
for  everybody  to  line  up  on  the  high  side  of  Main  Street  and 
leave  the  lower  side,  which  was  unbuilt,  clear.  Then,  if  the 
Phoenix  was  running  to  anybody's  fire  that  the  gang  did  n't 
like,  and  they  were  minded  to  cut  loose,  it  'd  be  all  clear  for 

[347] 


MARK      ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

taking  a  shot  at  her  as  she  went  by.  It  was  bad  for  the 
hose,"  he  chuckled. 

"  Well,  old  Lazarus  owned  that  fire,  and  the  Paradisers  cut 
loose,  plenty.  Hardly  a  spoke  there  now  but  what 's  bullet- 
creased,  and  that 's  the  third  set  of  wheels  that 's  been  about 
shot  out  from  under  that  machine.  But,  all  of  us  who  were 
trying  to  make  a  town  worth  while  had  patience,  mostly,  till 
that  evening. 

"  Axel  Neilson  had  rode  over  from  off  of  the  mesa,  that 
afternoon,  and  had  his  big  pinto  horse  standing  in  front  of 
the  drug-store.  So,  he  come  loping  down  the  street  to  meet 
us,  when  the  bell  rung,  and  looped  up  his  lariat  as  he  come. 
When  he  met  up  with  us  he  just  wheelepl  and  dropped  his 
loop  under  the  hook  of  this  tongue  here,  and  took  a  half- 
hitch  around  the  horn  of  his  saddle,  with  about  seven  yards 
of  rope  out,  all  on  the  canter.  Then  he  spurred  away  ahead 
df  some  fifteen  of  us  fellows  that  were  pulling  on  the  tongue 
and  pushing  behind  the  carriage. 

"  When  we  were  going  good,  and  curving  around  the  post- 
office,  which  had  been  started  on  blocking  for  a  new  location 
and  was  then  standing  in  the  middle  of  Main  Street,  one  of 
them  Paradisers  jumped  onto  his  pony  and  slung  a  rope 
around  the  Phoenix  and  then  side- jumped  and  stood  his  horse, 
like  throwing  a  steer. 

"  Well,  of  course  you  see  what  happened,  quick.  The 
Phoenix  turned  turtle,  and  about  a  dozen  of  us  with  her, 
into  the  gutter  and  then  over  onto  the  board-walk,  amongst 
the  rest  of  the  Paradisers  that  were  all  busy  taking  a  shot 
at  the  Phoenix  as  she  rolled  over.  But,  what  finished  my 
patience  was  the  sight  of  Bill  Amsler  fanning  his  gun  along 
with  the  outsiders,  and  my  wife  and  Mrs.  Sones  hurrying 
away,  good  and  stared,  While  they  examined  a  hole  that  Was 

[348] 


ENDERBY       S         CHOICE 

fresh  shot  through  the  top  of  my  wife's  bonnet.  That  was 
getting  a  little  too  close  home.  Bill  had  to  be  reduced. 

"  I  got  up  and  started  for  Bill,  meaning  to  talk  or  pound 
some  sense  into  him,  but,  with  his  gun  empty  and  no  belt  on, 
he  saw  me  coming  and  did  n't  wait.  He  made  tracks  and 
pulled  his  freight  for  Greaser  Town,  across  the  arroyo.  I 
knew  what  that  meant,  and  I  thought  we  might  as  well  settle 
with  Bill  then  as  whenever.  He  had  good  legs  then  and  he 
made  right  fair  running.  But,  I  ain't  so  crippled  up,  even 
yet.  So,  after  I  'd  got  a  Winchester  out  of  the  drug-store, 
I  trailed  over  soon  enough  to  see  him,  with  a  full  belt  of 
cartridges,  loping  out  of  Mexican  Jose's  'dobe  and  up  the 
slope  towards  the  graveyard;  but  too  far  off,  just  then,  for 
a  snapshot. 

"  That 's  the  place  over  yonder,"  said  Enderby  with  a  brief 
lifting  of  his  hand  toward  a  bleak  and  broken  enclosure  upon 
the  mountain-side.  "  Some  smart  Easterner  called  it  '  Chi- 
huahua-on-the-Hill ' ;  and  the  fool  name  stuck. 

"  You  see  the  place  is  some  hilly,  and  with  the  wide  board 
running  around  the  base  of  the  picket  fence,  it  made  fair 
sort  of  hiding  to  shoot  from  in  a  pinch,  and  Bill  generally 
made  for  there  when  he  was  pushed  or  just  beginning  to 
hatch  devilment.  That 's  how  I  knew  in  the  beginning  that 
we  had  to  get  him. 

"  Well,  it  was  coming  dusk  and  I  got  a  little  too  anxious, 
on  account  of  his  doing  that  mean  shooting  and  all  that. 
Result  was,  I  come  out  of  the  arroyo  exposed,  when  he  was 
getting  in  behind  the  fence.  He  put  a  glance  shot  along 
the  barrel  of  my  rifle  just  as  I  was  about  to  unhook  her. 
His  ball  split  my  left  arm  from  wrist  to  elbow,  light-like,  but 
it  spoiled  my  first  shot  and  sent  it  'way  wild. 

"  He  got  two  sXirte  then,  Bill  did.  Laying  tra  his  stomach, 

[  349  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

he  give  a  shout  of  victory  and  crossed  his  legs  up  behind  his 
back,  like  for  a  fancy  shot,  soon  as  I  'd  show  out  of  the 
arroyo  again.  It 's  the  sure  things  that  's  most  uncertain  in 
this  world,  and  Bill 's  never  got  that  shot  made  yet. 

"  While  I  was  squeezing  up  my  arm  some,  he  forgot  his 
legs  were  sticking  up  behind  the  pickets  in  full  view,  and  not 
wanting  to  get  him  outright,  anyhow,  I  thought  it  was  better 
judgment  to  take  what  I  could  see  than  to  guess  at  what 
was  down  behind  the  board. 

"  That 's  when  Bill  lost  the  leg,  and  that 's  how.  Soon  as 
my  .45  soft-nose  reached  him  he  let  out  a  yell  that  wa'  n't 
no  shout  of  victory  and  chucked  his  gun  over  the  fence  into 
the  trail,  in  token  of  peace.  I  picked  it  up  and  helped  him 
into  town,  and  Doc.  Maxon  shortened  him  up  sufficient; 
but  he  ain't  been  friendly,  much,  nor  frisky,  since,  and  he  's 
never  raided  the  shops  nor  roundhouse,  far  as  I  know.  He  's 
liable  to  bust  out  though,  some  day  when  the  bell  rings. 
Bill 's  never  been  exactly  what  you  could  call  amiable." 

Joe  seemed  very  thoughful  as  they  arose  and  left  the  little 
building,  and  when  they  had  reached  the  corner  of  the  plaza 
in  silence,  they  halted  and  looked,  for  a  moment,  into  one 
another's  eyes.  There  was  a  something  that  Harper  read  from 
Enderby's  face,  telling  him  that  in  and  under  this  all  lay 
his  first  opportunity  for  close  actual  contact  with  and  con- 
trol of  men,  in  variety  and  in  considerable  numbers;  and 
that  Enderby  so  intended  it. 

"  Can  we  do  it?  "  asked  Joe,  in  honest  doubt. 

"  We  can,"  Enderby  answered,  in  a  way  that  carried  con- 
viction. "  I  know  the  alcalde's  views.  He  wants  it  done. 
Will  you  take  chief,  and  us  older  fellows  back  you  ?  " 

"  If  you  say  so,"  replied  Joe,  very  quietly. 

"There'll  be  a  public  meeting  called  for  this   evening. 

[350] 


ENDERBY       S         CHOICE 

The  shop  band  plays  in  the  plaza  to-night,  anyway.  There  '11 
be  more  or  less  of  Paradise  up  here,  and  we  might  as  well  let 
them  see  that  we  're  growing. 

"  You  be  here,  and  you  '11  sure  be  elected.     Adios!  "  said 
Enderby  in  conclusion,  and  moved  on  leisurely  homeward. 


CHAPTER  XXII 
MAXON'S  RETURN 

TWO  months  of  brilliant  weather,  soft,  almost,  as  spring- 
time, followed  close  upon  the  rough  night  when,  out 
of  gratitude  and  humanity,  Maxon  became  a  volunteer,  in 
Harmony  Canyon.  The  whimsical  winter  gods  of  New  Mex- 
ico were  favoring  the  doctor.  He  was  heard  from  at  in- 
tervals and  in  the  first  green  of  spring  he  came  down  off 
the  spur  and  briefly  met  the  general  manager,  westward 
bound,  at  Villa  Rica.  He  wanted  to  go  East,  he  said,  with 
scant  preliminary,  and  leave  Tom  as  surgeon  in  fact,  if 
Sharer  would  consent.  Sharer,  questioning  mildly,  protest- 
ing much,  accepted  his  resignation,  finally,  to  save  him  from 
becoming  a  squaw-man,  he  said ;  but  there  was  a  light  in  his 
eyes  that  told  of  deeper  feeling. 

"The  Indian?  Oh,  yes.  He  got  along,"  Maxon  said 
with  a  far-away  look  in  response  to  Sharer's  question,  and 
said  no  more  at  the  time. 

The  evening  they  went  East  together,  upon  Sharer's  re- 
turn from  the  coast,  they  sat  in  the  car  at  Villa  Rica  Junc- 
tion waiting  to  couple  onto  the  California  express,  saying 
little  until  Sharer,  who  had  been  looking  narrowly  at  Maxon's 
abstracted  face,  said :  "  Tell  it,  Maxon,  tell  it.  Just  went 
up  there  a  few  miles  into  the  cactus  and  rang  for  hot  water 
and  towels,  I  suppose.  Nothing  to  it  but  smallpox.  Lived 
high,  didn't  you?  Where  are  the  Navajos?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Maxon  slowly.  "  Yes,  lived  high,  rather. 

[352] 


MAXON        S          RETURN 

Sharer,  I  have  been  questioning  whether  I  should  tell  it. 
And,  passing  that,  I  doubt  whether  I  can,  but  for  you  I 
will  try. 

"  The  Indians  are  on  a  little  river  ranch  at  Algodones. 
At  least  I  left  them  there  this  morning,  and  they  promised 
to  try  it  a  year  before  back-tracking  to  the  Ortiz.  They 
bought  it  yesterday,  ranch,  ponies,  and  cattle.  Ask  George 
to  bring  my  gripsack,  will  you? 

"  I  was  tired  of  my  own  thinking,  my  routine.  The  actual 
labor  of  the  going,  the  foolhardiness,  if  you  like,  the  hard- 
ship, offered  a  welcome  relief  from  my  loneliness  among 
people  since  my  Ruth  is  gone.  It  was  rough  enough  to  sat- 
isfy all  that,  the  night  I  went  up,"  he  continued,  "  but  most  of 
it  we  travelled  under  the  shelf-rock  of  the  canyon.  I  found 
their  shack,  large  enough  in  a  pinch  and  fairly  sheltered,  on 
one  of  the  higher  benches  of  the  Big  Ortiz.  Half  lean-to 
and  half  cave  under  the  cliff,  we  kept  it  fairly  warm  until  the 
freeze-up  passed. 

"  When  I  got  to  him  he  was  wild  with  fever  and  reeking 
with  the  pest.  I  bound  him  down  and  trained  the  woman 
to  parry  his  struggles,  while  I  went  the  rounds  of  his  awful 
body.  A  hundred  times  I  broke  his  blackened  lips  apart 
and  as  often  drained  his  livid  eyes.  There  is  nothing,  living 
or  dead,  that  compares  with  it,  and  the  memory  of  it  is  little 
better. 

"  But  he  got  along  and  we  saved  his  eyes.  When  he 
understood  it  all  he  was  so  grateful  that  I  felt  ashamed  of 
the  little  I  had  really  been  able  to  do.  The  indelible  blue 
notch  between  the  eyes,  from  that  lump  of  coal  at  Harmony, 
shows  savage  as  a  spear-point  in  the  odd  pallor  of  his 
marred  brown  face,  but  he  is  white  all  through  no  less. 

"  Clear  water  from  the  rocks  was  plentiful  up  on  the 
23  [  353  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

mountain  and  coal  and  wood  are  there  for  the  taking.  I 
built  a  stone  fire-place  and  Lota  packed  provisions  up  from 
Harmony,  where  they  were  set  out  for  her  by  my  order. 
Altogether,  we  fared  very  well. 

"  When  at  last  I  got  him  peeled  to  normal  size  —  peeled 
is  the  word,  Sharer,  nothing  else  approaches  it  —  got  him 
bathed  and  on  the  road  to  new  life,  all  that  could  not  be 
cleared  up  with  formaldehyde  was  burned  with  the  shack,  and 
I  decided  to  loaf  a  while  and  invite  my  soul. 

"  Facing  south,  cut  into  the  yellow  cliff,  high  above  the 
old  shack,  is  a  well-preserved  cliff-dwelling,  so  sunny  and 
spacious  that  I  asked  why  they  had  not  lived  in  it.  There 
was  no  answer  ready  and  I  did  not  ask  again,  but  we  rigged 
it  up  and  finished  our  stay  in  it. 

"  Once  out  in  the  sun  again,  he  thrived  like  a  mesquite  and 
soon  was  becoming  supple  and  restive.  As  we  sat  one  sunny 
noon-day,  not  long  ago,  enjoying  the  wild  beauty  of  canyon 
and  crags,  the  lower  slopes  blazing  here  and  there  with  crimson 
cypress  and  purple  larkspur,  the  heights  and  depths  thrill- 
ing with  the  mystery  and  the  hushed  voices  of  the  wild  — 
you  know  the  feel  of  it  —  Sancho  followed  with  his  eyes  the 
flight  of  a  gay  red  tanager  along  the  yellow  wall  of  the 
canyon  into  the  green  cedars,  then  turning  to  me,  said  softly : 
*  Him  alone,  you  alone.  You  sick  here,'  placing  his  hand 
upon  his  breast.  '  Squaw  gone,  papoose  gone.  You  come. 
Go  see  papoose.  You  come,5  he  said,  and  rising,  went  into 
the  old  dwelling. 

"  He  thrust  his  arm  into  a  cranny  of  the  rock  wall  and 
held  toward  me  the  handles  of  a  pair  of  wide-bladed  knives. 
For  the  moment  I  thought  he  had  gone  back  to  fever,  but 
looking  steadily  into  his  eyes  I  saw  no  menace  there. 

** '  One,'  he  said,  as  I  hesitated. 

[354] 


MAXON        S  RETURN 

"  I  took  a  knife.  He  turned  to  Lota,  who  was  weaving 
a  blanket  in  quiet  unconcern,  and  said  '  Paso.'  She  arose 
and  pushed  aside  a  blanket  that  draped  the  back  wall,  thrust 
back  with  her  foot  a  wedge  of  rock  upon  the  floor,  and  at  a 
touch  of  Sancho's  shoulder  a  section  of  the  low  back  wall 
rolled  slowly  into  an  unnoticed  narrow  opening  in  the  corner 
of  the  side  wall. 

"  Used  as  I  am  to  unexpected  doings,  the  result  stunned 
me.  Sharer,  you  are  of  those  who  believe  that  within  sight 
of  these  car  windows  are  the  proofs  of  a  civilization  as 
mysterious,  as  rich  in  interest  and  quite  as  old  as  that  of 
known  Egypt.  If  you  did  not  believe  that  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  say  to  you  what  followed  the  rolling  of  the  stone. 
In  place  of  the  flat  rock  whose  legends  I  had  previously  tried 
to  read  from  its  crudely  chiselled  figures,  there  was  an  oriel 
through  the  thin  wall  of  the  mountain,  circular,  and  large 
as  the  span  of  a  man's  extended  arms.  The  Indian  stepped 
through  and  stood  upon  the  brink  in  the  bay  of  rock  on 
the  other  side,  scanning  the  black  sides  of  a  great  gorge  that 
lay  revealed.  The  change  from  light  to  dark,  from  sunny 
yellow  to  frowning  black,  was  as  though  one  suddenly  looked 
through  a  wide,  unwinking  eye,  into  the  unmeasured  depths 
of  the  earth.  Among  the  black  basaltic  walls  that  rose  to 
giddy  heights,  there  was  no  visible  opening  except  above, 
and  far  below  lay  a  floor  of  cloud  that  hid  a  muttering  tor- 
rent. A  single  tawny  point  of  rock,  high  to  the  left,  held 
the  only  semblance  of  relief  from  the  appalling  grandeur  of 
the  dark  picture,  and  high  upon  the  top  of  a  cone  of  rock 
in  the  centre  of  the  abyss  a  vulture  sat,  motionless  as  the  tip 
of  a  spire. 

"  With  clutching  hand  and  narrowed  eyes,  the  Indian 
glided  backward  through  the  opening  and  grasped  my  rifle 

[355] 


MARK     ENDERBY:      ENGINEER 

from  its  nook.  Standing  in  the  open  circle,  he  levelled  it 
for  an  instant,  and  the  sharp  crash  of  the  gun  multiplied 
into  a  volley  of  echoes,  as  the  tawny  rock-cap  sprang  into  the 
air  and  hurtled,  end  over  end,  into  the  depths  and  through 
the  vapory  floor  of  the  gorge,  with  the  piercing  yell  of 
a  wounded  cougar.  The  vulture  leaped  and  dived,  swift  and 
straight,  into  the  depths,  and  through  the  vapor,  and  then 
the  black  gorge  showed  nothing  living. 

"  '  We  go,'  said  the  Indian,  replacing  the  gun  and  stepping 
again  into  the  giddy  oriel.  I  followed.  Now,  I  wonder 
why,  but  I  followed  and  I  'm  glad  of  it,  Sharer. 

"  He  led  me  for  an  hour  through  paths  that  Satan  must 
have  etched  into  the  sides  of  that  basaltic  cliff,  but  many 
soft-shod  feet  have  trodden  them  smooth  in  the  long  ago. 
Once,  for  a  moment,  sorroche,  the  mountain  sickness,  turned 
me  empty  and  faint  and  I  flattened,  face  in,  toward  the  rock. 
He  instantly  thrust  his  body  between  me  and  the  brink,  and 
the  contact  nerved  me  to  go  on.  I  have  clutched  that  rock  in 
my  sleep  since  then  and  once  yelled  lustily,  they  tell  me. 

"  At  the  last,  a  narrow  fissure,  scarce  two  yards  in  breadth, 
split  the  black  wall  before  us  raggedly  to  the  top.  So  deep 
that,  looking  down,  there  was  only  blackness,  and,  high 
above,  the  stars  shone  clear  in  the  mid-afternoon.  Upon  the 
lip  of  this  fissure  Sancho  stopped  and  drew  his  knife,  the 
mate  of  which  I  carried.  Then  I  mistrusted  that  his  race 
spirit  had  come  uppermost  and  that  he  had  darkly  reasoned 
that  I  should  be  happier,  and  perhaps  his  secret  safer,  if  he 
returned  alone.  And  looking  into  the  bottomless  crevasse, 
I  wondered  what  lapse  of  judgment  had  led  me  on. 

"  But  with  only  a  moment's  halt,  he  leaped  the  yawning 
gap  and  clung  upon  a  point  of  rock  no  wider  than  your 
desk.  He  fumbled,  head-high,  at  the  face  of  the  rock,  until 

[356] 


MAXON        S  RETURN 

the  broad  blade  of  his  knife  was  forced  in  down  to  the  hilt, 
and  left  its  strong  handle  projecting  like  a  peg  from  the 
rock.  Then  he  turned  and  said,  as  at  starting: 

"  '  You  come ! ' 

"  He  grasped  the  knife-handle  and  clung  to  the  rock  while 
he  swung  around  a  projection,  and  was  gone  from  view,  into 
the  big  fissure. 

"  The  knife-handle  still  stuck  from  the  rock,  and  I  stood 
stupidly  staring  at  it,  alone  and  ashamed.  I  knew  then  that 
I  carried  a  knife  by  courtesy  only.  My  knife  was  not  needed. 

"Again  his  voice  came,  hollowly,  saying:  'You  come.' 
And,  Sharer,  somehow  the  spell  of  it  was  on  me  and,  trem- 
bling like  a  dog,  I  went.  I  leaped  it,  clung,  and  died  a 
dozen  deaths  in  that  moment,  and  in  the  next,  stood  with 
Sancho  behind  the  rock-point  in  the  wall  of  the  fissure.  He 
was  already  on  his  knees,  fumbling  at  a  pile  of  broken  quartz 
and  porphyry,  and  then  I  thought  I  was  sure  of  his  quest. 

"  From  an  under-cut  which  he  uncovered  in  the  rock,  he 
took  a  score  of  smooth  hardwood  sticks  of  graded  lengths, 
which  he  assorted  carefully.  The  shortest  he  dropped  first, 
across  the  fissure,  into  niches  that  were  hewn  into  the  walls. 
Then,  standing  upon  that  slender  rung,  he  added  and  climbed, 
one  by  one,  returning,  until,  with  the  placing  of  the  last,  he 
remained  above.  From  the  ledge  upon  which  he  stood  con- 
cealed, some  twenty  feet  above  me  in  the  dusky  light,  he  said 
again : 

"'You  come!' 

"  I  scaled  that  bending  gossamer  of  ladder  with  my  eyes 
upon  the  stars  overhead,  and  they,  twinkling  in  the  blue 
above,  were  hardly  more  superb  than  the  sparkling  wealth 
that  laid  upon  that  shelf  of  rock." 

"Laid?  "  said  Sharer  tensely. 

[357] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

"  Yes,"  said  Maxon.  "  It  was  gathered  in  little  mounds 
before  a  sun-god,  rough-hewn  in  the  living  black  rock,  with 
great  eyes  of  blue  and  gold,  smiling  grotesquely  from  the 
shadows  of  the  big  niche.  The  hall-marks  of  ancient  Mex- 
ican royalty,  great  tufts  of  quetzal  plumes,  swaying  idly 
above  it  in  the  clear  dry  air  that  swirls  in  from  the  fissure, 
told  the  story  of  Sancho's  defection  from  the  ancient  faith. 
It  would  go  badly  with  him,  Sharer,  if  that  were  to  become 
known  among  his  people.  He,  it  is  certain,  is  not  Navajo." 

Maxon  smoked  in  quiet  intentness  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  said: 

"  Go  if  he  will  take  you,  but  I  would  not  again." 

He  took  from  the  gripsack  at  his  side  a  big  oval  of  beau- 
tiful blue  and  gold  to  which  clung  rough  points  of  gray 
rock,  and  handed  it  to  Sharer,  saying: 

"  Keep  this.  If  ever  a  more  lowering  sky  is  yours,  this 
may  help  to  bring  back  to  you  the  blue  of  New  Mexico's  sky 
and  the  golden  light  of  its  sunshine. 

"  I  shipped  enough  of  it  to  Denver  to  make  the  Indians 
comfortable  and  gave  them  the  money  last  week.  They 
pressed  upon  me  more  than  a  railroad  surgeon  is  likely  to 
possess.  And  now  I  am  going  home,  to  play  with  my  chil- 
dren's children,  after  a  while,  I  hope,  till  the  sun  goes  down. 

"  *  Once  a  man  and  twice  a  boy,'  eh,  Sharer?  "  he  added, 
and  laughed  to  hide  his  sadness,  like  the  great,  kindly  boy 
he  is  at  heart. 

"  All  of  us,"  said  Sharer  musingly,  as  he  turned  the 
precious  lobe  of  blue  and  gold  idly  round  and  round.  "  All 
of  us,  Maxon,  every  one." 

When  the  California  express  went  east  that  night,  Dodson, 
in  the  big  ten-wheeler  at  the  front,  perched  up  behind  the 
broad  shaft  of  electric  light  that  swayed  and  raced  on  be- 

[358] 


MAXON       S          RETURN 

fore  the  engine,  now  on  the  fringe  of  the  river,  and  now 
under  the  swaying  cottonwoods  that  waved  wide  arms  across 
the  track,  saw  a  white-turbaned  head  thrust  out  from  behind 
the  adobe  wall  of  a  ranch-house  close  to  the  track,  near 
Algodones ;  saw  it  vanish  when  the  light  dashed  upon  it,  and 
thought  no  more  of  it.  When  they  at  the  rear  end  flashed 
by,  however,  there  was  a  mute  parting  of  friends. 

A  pine  torch  rose  and  fell  and  rose  again  against  the 
adobe  wall.  Maxon,  rising  quickly  from  his  chair  by  the 
rear  window,  swung  the  curtained  car  door  wide,  once  and 
again,  letting  out  a  double  flood  of  light,  in  answer,  then 
turned  away  with  smarting  eyes. 

When  the  Mississippi  valley  awakes  from  winter,  and  the 
orioles  are  swinging  among  the  first  golden  green  of  the 
old  St.  Louis  elms,  a  sunny-faced  old  man  sometimes  sits 
placidly  in  his  favorite  nook,  not  far  from  Vandeventer 
Place,  and  rules  the  gambols  of  a  merry  throng  of  little 
men  and  women.  But  oftenest  there  is  with  him  a  little 
woman  of  five,  or  thereabout,  whose  eyes  are  as  blue  as 
forget-me-nots  and  whose  sunny  curls  shimmer  with  gold. 

"  Lota,"  he  playfully  calls  her.  And  again,  when  her 
fancy  has  decked  her  in  a  flowing  train  of  rare  old  chrome 
red  and  yellow  and  black,  which  she  catches  up  from  his 
knee,  he  says:  "My  little  Navajo!"  as  she  sweeps  by, 
and  his  smiling  eyes  have  a  dreamy  depth,  as  Maxon  plays 
till  the  sun  goes  down. 


[359] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
MAKING  A  CHIEFTAIN 

ENDERBY,  on  the  evening  of  the  confab  at  the  hose- 
house,  seeing  Abe  Hazard,  town  marshal,  standing 
at  the  drug-store  corner,  took  that  turn  in  his  homeward 
course,  after  parting  with  Harper.  When  he  left  Hazard, 
a  few  minutes  later,  the  stocky  little  marshal  drawled: 

"  Sure.     I  '11  go  up  to  the  house  an'  git  my  other  gun." 

"  You  tell  the  alcalde  that  I  'm  set  on  having  this  to- 
night," said  Mark,  "  and  that  you  and  me  will  steer  things. 
But  ring  the  bell  slow  and  peaceable  and  don't  get  things 
stirred  up  too  much  at  the  start.  When  the  pinch  comes, 
we  can  hold  them  with  the  band." 

So,  it  came  about  that  when  the  stars  were  looking 
steadily  down  upon  the  plaza  with  its  throng  of  vari- 
colored faces  pressing  in  about  the  flaring  lights  of  the  little 
band-stand,  the  pretty  closing  strains  of  "  La  Fandango  del 
Agua  Blanco,  "  were  followed  by  the  musical  call  of  the 
bell.  Very  guardedly  the  first  stroke  rang,  and  echoed  away 
against  the  cliff.  When  the  instant  shuffle  of  the  crowd  and 
the  sound  of  scurrying  horses'  feet  upon  the  rim  of  the 
throng  had  quieted  to  a  questioning  murmur,  the  company 
call  was  regularly  taken  up  by  the  old  bell. 

"  One !  One-two-three ! "  it  rang,  again  and  again,  un- 
til the  people,  silent  for  the  most  part,  filled  the  little  plaza. 

Then,  following  the  lead  of  Enderby,  Harper,  and  Abe 
Hazard,  frb'm  the  fire-shied,  they  sVaye'd  back  toVartl  the 

[  360  ] 


MAKING       A       CHIEFTAIN 

band-stand,  and  pressed  close  to  it,  as  before.  Mounting 
the  short  flight  of  steps  the  three  men  advanced  upon  the 
platform,  and  at  a  motion  from  Hazard,  the  band  instru- 
ments were  lowered. 

"  Get  action  on  it,  Abe,"  advised  Enderby,  in  a  whisper, 
and  Hazard  went  to  the  railing  where  the  crowd  was  densest. 
Slowly,  he  hitched  up  his  belt  with  the  indescribable  twist 
that  only  a  seasoned  frontiersman  or  a  soldier  can  accomplish 
gracefully. 

"  Men  of  Alta  Vista,"  spoke  Hazard,  "  an'  I  see  a  few 
friends  from  Paradise  has  rid  in  — " 

"  You  bet !  Rah  fer  Paradise ! "  yelled  a  rider  on  the 
fringe  of  the  crowd  and  spurred  his  horse  into  a  curveting 
buck- jump,  that  brought  forth  a  stifled  cheer,  and  drew 
half-a-dozen  other  galloping  horsemen  after  him.  They 
circled  the  edges  of  the  crowd  and  came  back  with  a  swoop 
to  the  starting  point.  Unmoved,  Hazard  waited  until  the 
little  cavalcade  came  to  a  spectacular  halt  in  the  outer  rim 
of  light  from  the  band-stand. 

"  That  '11  be  all  right  about  Paradise,"  he  then  announced 
slowly,  "  an'  we  're  glad  to  have  the  folks  from  down  that 
way  with  us  showin'  life  an'  action.  But  we  don't  have  no 
more  time  fer  them  amusements  this  evenin'. 

"  We  're  here  to  begin  reorg'nizin'  the  town  fire-comp'ny 
an'  I  'm  dep'tized  by  the  alcalde  to  say  his  say,  him  not 
bein'  able  to  be  present  in  person.  I  ther'fore  offer,  as 
givin'  the  sense  o'  this  meetin',  our  friend  an*  ex-chief  o' 
the  Alta  Vista  fire-department,  Mark  Enderby.  He  knows 
my  sentiments.  Mr.  Enderby  will  talk  to  you,"  he  con- 
cluded with  a  jerk  of  his  thumb  in  Mark's  direction,  after 
a  searching  glance  at  the  Paradise  out-riders. 

"  Got  a  gUn?  "  Mark  asketi  hastily  of  Jtfe  while  Hazard 

[  361  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

was  talking.  Before  Joe  could  reply  Mark  cautioned  in 
undertones,  "  Don't  show  any.  We  've  got  plenty,  here 
and  scattered  through  the  crowd,  and  you  're  to  be  the 
emblem  of  peace  this  evening." 

"  You  people  of  Alta  Vista  —  and  Paradise  —  know  me 
well  enough,  I  reckon,"  said  Enderby,  taking  his  stand  be- 
side Hazard.  "  I  've  done  my  best  by  this  town,  one  way 
and  another,  going  and  coming,  times  I  'm  not  on  the  road, 
and  always  will,  according  to  my  lights. 

"  The  marshal  has  put  the  business  of  this  meeting,  and 
what  we  most  need  now,  having  the  hose-carriage  and  the 
fire-house,  is  a  new  chief.  Time  was  when  there  was  dis- 
agreements and  some  signs  of  bad  feeling  during  the  work- 
ings of  the  company,  but  such  emotions,  we  expect,  have 
passed  with  time  gone." 

"  Oh,  I  don'  know,"  spoke  an  unfriendly  voice  from  the 
centre  of  the  crowd,  and  Bill  Amsler's  flushed  face 
stretched  higher  above  the  throng  and  his  right  shoulder 
heaved  slowly  above  the  level.  "  There  's  folks  in  this  town 
that  needs  to  be  lots  more  keerful  with  the'r  shootin',  an* 
the'r  talkin'  in  times  o'  public  interest." 

"  Right  for  you,  neighbor,"  replied  Enderby,  without 
venom.  "  It 's  well  and  timely  said.  This  left  arm  of  mine 
is  stiffening  more  than  is  comfortable,  as  time  gets  far- 
ther from  the  hide-house  burning.  But  I  ain't  carrying  any 
ill  feelings  that  can't  be  covered  under  the  stamp  of  that 
leg  of  yours.  So  let 's  let  it  go  as  it  lays  and  continue  the 
times  of  peace." 

A  murmur  of  approval  ran  through  the  gathering,  which 
was  well  leavened  with  railroad  men.  Amsler's  shoulder 
went  down  and  he  edged  into  the  lesser  light  of  the  group 
and  subsided. 

[362] 


MAKING       A       CHIEFTAIN 

"  There  is  here,"  said  Enderby,  "  a  young  man,  Joe 
Harper,  that  some  of  you  know  and  some  of  you  don't.  I 
guarantee  him  to  stand  or  run  with  the  company  according 
to  the  town's  needs,  and  I  put  him  in  nomination  for  chief. 
Are  there  any  other  candidates?  " 

"  Ther'  is  not,"  said  Abe  Hazard  promptly.  "  All  in 
favor  o'  makin'  this  here  election  unanimous  just  speak  up 
an'  say  so  now." 

If  there  was  objection  offered  it  was  lost  in  the  affirmative 
shout  of  friends,  and  in  the  single  blare  of  the  band  that 
came  with  suspicious  timeliness.  Before  Joe  could  fully 
grasp  the  fact  of  his  election,  there  were  calls  —  both 
friendly  and  jeering,  for  a  speech,  and  he  was  standing  at 
the  rail  in  front  of  Hazard  and  Enderby. 

"  Make  your  play,  Joe.  You  need  n't  say  much," 
prompted  Mark,  aside,  "  but  be  careful  what  you  say." 

Joe  flushed  as  he  surveyed  the  serious-faced  gathering 
and  felt  the  intensity  of  the  fires  of  life  that  burned  there. 
He  saw,  as  never  before,  how  narrow  was  the  span  of  years 
to  which  Enderby  had  referred  as  separating  the  town  from 
its  own  more  primitive  days.  Then  he  stiffened,  with  a  flash 
of  his  gray  eyes,  and  spoke. 

"  I  want  to  live  here,"  he  began  abruptly.  "  I  like  it 
and  want  to  help.  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  the  office  of 
chief.  Other  officers,  I  am  told,  will  be  elected,  but  it  will  all 
amount  to  nothing  unless  everybody  helps. 

"  To  promote  good  feeling,  I  propose  that  we  take  out 
the  hose-cart,  now,  and  invite  the  boys  from  Paradise  to 
hitch  on  and  join  us  in  a  parade,  up  Main  Street  and  back  to 
the  plaza.  Let  us  head  up  with  Marshal  Abe  Hazard,  Mark 
Eliderby,  Bill  Amsler,  and  the  band.  Are  there  any  objec- 
tions to  the  idea?  " 

[363] 


MARK     EN DERBY:     ENGINEER 

Something  between  a  growl  and  a  groan  broke  from. 
Enderby  and  Hazard,  but  the  thing  was  done. 

"  Pardner,  ther'  is,"  said  a  mountaineer  who  had  been 
standing  close  in  front  of  Joe. 

As  he  spoke,  the  man  laid  the  blue  muzzle  of  a  big  revolver 
on  the  second  rail  of  the  band-stand.  The  upturned  bore 
stared  threateningly  into  Joe's  astonished  face,  and  swayed 
only  enough  to  cover  Hazard  and  Enderby,  at  his  side. 

"Ther'  is  objections.  An'  I  give  notice  that  if  I'm 
gun-covered,  back  'er  front,  before  the  p'int  's  settled,  you  're 
sure  covered,  an'  ther 's  others  covered.  I  advise  f  er  peace." 

There  came  the  deadly  rustling  swish  of  guns  steathily 
leaving  holsters,  but  not  a  hammer  clicked.  The  thing  was 
too  complete  and  deadly  as  it  stood.  Joe  stood  transfixed 
and  gazing  vacantly  down  into  the  big  muzzle.  His  ruddy 
cheeks  slowly  turned  white  and  his  nostrils  tightened  notice- 
ably. Then,  suddenly,  the  color  surged  back  into  his  face 
and  he  did  something  that  has  cost  many  a  man  his  life,  in 
like  position.  He  smiled. 

But  this  was  a  pervasive,  friendly  smile  that  took  in  the 
gun  and  the  gunner  and  those  beyond  him.  Joe  saw  the 
softened  reflection  of  his  own  face  in  the  faces  below  him, 
as  they  relaxed.  He  had  arrived  at  the  other  man's  point  of 
view,  and  it  conjured  a  picture  that  made  him  smile,  even 
into  the  muzzle  of  the  gun. 

"Are  you  from  Paradise?"  he  quietly  asked  of  the  man. 

"  I  am,"  said  the  man  with  the  gun. 

"  I  think  you  are  right  to  object,"  said  Joe  steadily. 
"  State  your  point,  but  lower  the  gun.  I  have  none  anyway, 
and  if  we  were  on  the  engine  it  would  look  to  me  like  heading 
into  a  tunnel,  just  now,  with  the  far  end  closed." 

A  gritty  sort  of  laugh  rippled  through  the  crowd,  but 

[364] 


MAKING       A       CHIEFTAIN 

mixed  with  it  was  the  dull  thud  of  steel  in  leather,  as  unseen 
guns  went  back  into  hidden  holsters. 

Enderby  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  and  said,  low,  to  Hazard: 
"  It  »s  all  right  now.  Hold  steady." 

"  The  p'int  is,"  said  the  man,  as  he  looked  closely  at 
Mark  and  Hazard  and  allowed  the  muzzle  to  slip  below  the 
rail,  "  that  as  long  as  we  got  to  come  up  here  from  Paradise 
to  Alta  Vista,  visitin'  an'  the  like,  we  don't  keer  to  be 
insulted  an'  worked  up  no  more  by  indecent  messages  onto 
public  vehicles ;  not  while  they  's  a  gun  to  shoot.  But,  we  're 
wantin'  peace,  as  I  announced." 

"  The  neighbor  from  Paradise  refers,  I  believe,  to  some 
inscriptions  on  the  rear  of  the  hose-carriage,  with  which  you 
are  probably  all  familiar,"  announced  Joe  in  quiet  serious- 
ness. "  Considering  ourselves  in  committee  of  the  whole,  I 
would  move  you  that  the  offensive  lettering  be  at  once  re- 
moved, and  that  we  then  proceed  with  the  parade.  Will 
somebody  second  that  motion  ?  " 

"  I  second  the  motion.  The  man  is  wrong  with  his  gun, 
which  we  f  ergive,  an'  he  's  right  with  his  p'int,  which  we  all 
applaud,"  said  Hazard  promptly.  "  This  is  a  meetin'  fer 
peace." 

"  Question  !  "  said  Enderby,  heartily. 

"  You  have  heard  the  motion,  gentlemen.  All  in  favor, 
signify  by  saying  '  Aye,' "  Harper  responded  promptly. 

The  shout  of  "  Ayes  "  that  went  up  was  whipped  to  a 
crescendo  of  "  Yip-yip-yee's  "  from  a  shadowy  line  of  cir- 
cling Paradise  horsemen,  and  a  volley  of  high-aimed  guns, 
that  gave  Alta  Vista  almost  the  vim  of  a  cow-town  in  jubi- 
lee. Then  the  throng  broke  and  headed  for  the  hose-house. 

That  night  Alta  Vista,  along  Main  Street  and  the  plaza, 
saw  a  new  sight.  Following  the  valiant  shop-band,  Abe 

[365] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

Hazard,  Bill  Amsler,  Mark  Enderby,  and  the  protesting 
Citizen  from  Paradise,  four  abreast,  and  afoot,  led  a  small 
platoon  of  Paradise  horse  that  drew  the  "  Phoenix  of  Alta 
Vista "  with  half-a-dozen  lariats.  Harper,  hoisted  by 
friendly  hands,  rode  the  hose-carriage  with  the  dilapidated 
eagle,  and  two-by-two  the  crowd  brought  up  the  rear.  What 
Enderby  had  called  "  that  insulting  sentiment  "  had  vanished 
under  a  bar  of  fresh  shale-red  paint,  and  all  was  peace  and 
good  will. 

It  was  a  joyful  mood  of  Alta  Vista,  and  the  enlivening 
strains  of  "  The  Dance  of  the  White  Water "  again  fared 
forth,  but  now  mingled  with  the  jubilant  crash  of  guns  that 
had  not  been  heard  since  the  night  of  the  hide-house  fire. 
The  far  sounds  and  echoes  of  it  survived  after  the  Paradise 
delegation  had  galloped  away  into  the  night  and  the 
"  Phoenix  "  was  safely  housed  and  the  plaza  lights  were  out. 
The  "  Phoenix,"  for  once,  had  gone  proudly  unscathed. 

When  Enderby,  Hazard,  and  Amsler  had  talked  out  their 
peace  pow-wow  at  the  drug-store  and  were  about  to  separate 
for  home,  Mark  ventured  an  opinion : 

"  I  expect  there  's  something  big  in  a  young  fellow  who 
can  start  up  a  thing  as  bristly  as  that  was  for  a  few  min- 
utes, and  then  throw  and  tie  it,  without  getting  himself  or 
anybody  else  hurt." 

"  Ther'  is,"  said  Amsler. 

"  You  bet !  "  said  Hazard. 

The  reorganization  of  the  fire-company  and  the  practice 
runs  in  convenient  afternoons  and  evenings  went  on,  with 
increasing  interest  and  enthusiasm,  during  the  summer.  It 
was  not  until  a  pleasant  evening  in  early  September  that 
the  results  of  Enderby's  coaching  and  Joe's  generalship  were 
put  to  the  test.  On  that  day,  all  trains  had  come  through 

[366] 


MAKING       A       CHIEFTAIN 

on  time  and  the  town  was  serene,  but  very  much  alive  with  the 
making  up  of  trains  and  the  home-coming  of  crews.  Nearly 
a  full  fire-company  could  have  been  mustered  just  before 
Jose  Alvarez  Conquistador  Rodriguez  precipitated  a  crisis. 
Oddly  enough,  it  was  this  "  Yellow  Conk,"  whose  spasmodic 
enthusiasm  had  won  for  him  the  distinction  of  being  the 
only  Mexican  in  the  company,  who  brought  about  its  un- 
doing. 

Much  of  the  mild  sunny  afternoon  he  had  reclined  dreamily 
against  a  packing-case  on  the  freight  house  platform.  His 
sleepy  eyes  saw  dimly,  when  at  all,  the  chortling  switch 
engines  that  untiringly  backed  and  filled  cars  into  trains  in 
the  yard  before  him.  There  was  nothing  to  be  anxious 
about.  The  engines  were  for  the  working.  Why  not,  then, 
the  siesta? 

Finally,  when  the  yards  were  quieting  down  and  the  echoes 
fell  fewer  from  the  Rim  Rock  Cliff,  "  Conk "  arose  and 
yawned  luxuriously.  His  left  hand  searched  out  tobacco 
while  his  right  found  paper,  and  slowly  he  rolled  a  cigarette. 
Properly  moistened,  it  hung  at  a  careless  angle  from  his 
lips,  as  he  indolently  surveyed  the  crowded  yards  and  with 
much  deliberation  twirled  a  match  between  thumb  and  finger. 

Canting  his  high  conical  hat,  with  its  brave  filigree  band 
and  bell-buttoned  brim,  to  a  more  soothing  angle  above  his 
eyes,  he  lifted  one  graceful  corduroyed  leg,  gazed  far  away 
across  the  sunny  reaches  of  the  open,  and  struck  the  match 
with  a  languid  sweep.  A  slow  smile  spread  over  his  lazy, 
handsome  face,  as  he  expelled  the  first  deep  inhalation  of 
fragrant  smoke,  and  tossed  the  glowing  match-stem  over 
his  shoulder. 

Buena!     Ah,  it  was  good! 

It  was  good  and,  so  being,  Conquistador,  the  immortal, 

[367] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

was  in  the  next  moment  gathered  unto  his  fathers,  as  a 
shivering  boom  struck  and  shuddered  back  from  the  cliff, 
and  poor  "  Conk,"  the  mortal,  was  scattered  wide  upon  the 
yards,  leaving  little  but  the  unresistant  sombrero,  with  its 
now  pitiful  little  bells,  and  the  splintered  and  spattered 
freight  house  to  mark  his  exit.  The  heavy  box  of  explosive 
had  been  marked  plainly  enough,  but  not  upon  the  side 
where  "  Conk  "  had  dreamed  the  sunny  hours  away. 

The  freight  house  was  flaming  and  a  great  white  pall  of 
the  powder  smoke  hung  in  level  folds,  high  above  it,  when 
the  old  bell  sent  out  its  hurried  alarm  upon  the  still  air. 
Harper,  with  many  others  of  his  patiently  drilled  company, 
came  promptly  to  the  work.  Fleet  and  strong,  they  ran 
the  distance  bravely,  amid  cheers.  Deftly,  the  agile  pipe- 
man  dropped  off  at  the  plug.  The  reel  spun  out  the  well- 
kept  hose,  and  the  hose-cart  was  thrust  into  an  outer  angle 
of  the  burning  building  —  and  forgotten. 

So  sure  were  they  of  their  skill  that  Joe  straightened  and 
waved  the  signal  for  water,  before  the  nozzle  was  screwed 
into  place.  The  long  line  of  hose  leaped  and  bellied  and 
writhed  under  the  hurtling  rush  of  the  heavy  head  of  water, 
and  they  grouped  anxiously  over  the  big  nozzle.  The 
nozzle  jammed,  cross-threaded,  and  locked  itself  hopelessly 
askew,  just  when  Enderby  broke  through  the  close  circle  of 
men  about  it  and  joined  Joe  and  his  lieutenants.  With  a 
heavy  chug,  the  water  struck  the  last  sharp  kink  in  the  hose 
and  lifted,  then  stretched,  Joe  and  his  group  of  helpers,  like 
tumbled  nine-pins,  around  the  feet  of  Enderby. 

Then  the  freed  nozzle  raised  and  struck  like  a  living  thing, 
at  Mark.  He  went  down,  bruised  and  stunned,  upon  the 
shattered  group.  Once  more,  the  nozzle  raised  and  struck 
a  sounding  blow  upon  the  muddy  mass  of  them  and  then  it 

[368] 


MAKING       Al       CHIEFTAIN 

fell  clear  of  the  gushing  hose.  A  moment  more  and  the 
rout  was  complete.  The  over-anxious  pipeman.  watching 
the  nozzle  signals,  had  wrenched  the  plug-screw  down  heed- 
lessly until  it  burst  the  bottom  from  the  only  available  plug. 
It  was  a  sorry  group  that  the  townsfolk  and  the  remainder 
of  the  company  pulled  from  the  little  pool  in  which  they 
lay  with  the  nozzleless  hose  pouring  a  weak  and  gulping 
stream  of  muddy  water  among  the  fallen  ones. 

"  It 's  bad,"  said  Enderby,  as  they  helped  him  to  the 
drug-store,  "  but  don't  you  mind  too  much,  boys.  Things 
are  happening  all  the  time,  you  know,  and  always  will  be, 
more  or  less." 

"  But  the  freight  house  is  gone,"  gritted  Joe  between  his 
teeth,  and,  much  to  his  own  surprise,  tears  of  anger  and 
mortification  ran  freely  down  his  muddy  face. 

"  Yes,"  said  Enderby,  "  and  the  Phoenix  is  gone.  She 
burned  with  the  rest  of  it.  But  you  tried,  didn't  you?'' 

"  Yes,  tried ;  but  what  a  try ! "  groaned  Joe,  with  a  back- 
ward glance  at  the  smouldering  mass  by  the  tracks. 

Thinking  over  it  all,  however,  at  his  later  leisure  —  the 
reorganization,  the  wider,  closer  contact  with  men,  the  at- 
tempts at  discipline,  the  success  and  the  glaring  failure  — 
Enderby  felt  that  his  main  purpose  had  been  served. 

Harper  had  grown,  by  so  much,  in  a  general  knowledge 
of  men  and  of  himself.  And  when,  in  the  year  that  fol- 
lowed, Yates,  superintendent  of  motive  power,  went,  almost 
without  warning,  to  his  end,  and  Dinwiddy  was  moved  up 
along  the  line  of  promotion,  Enderby  looked  with  confidence 
upon  Harper's  advancement  to  a  minor  executive  position  and 
knew,  with  a  quiet  content,  that  Harper's  further  course  lay 
wide  beyond  Alta  Vista. 

Some  years  have  gone  since  then,  yet  not  so  many,  all 
s*  [  369  ] 


MARK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

in  all,  and  Enderby,  having  satisfied  his  desire  to  make  a 
few  ripples  in  the  railroad  freight  pool,  before  definitely 
conceding  that  his  engine-running  days  were  done,  now  con- 
tentedly bears  a  hand  in  the  thriving  affairs  of  Alta  Vista, 
as  one  of  its  honored  city  fathers.  Very  often,  he  is  found 
seated  near  the  door  of  a  spick  and  span,  new  brick  fire- 
engine  house,  above  the  door  of  which  a  bird  of  wonderful 
design  in  gilt  and  bronze  mounts  guard  over  the  neatly  let- 
tered legend: 

"Phoenix  Company:     No.  1." 

There  Sharer,  who  still  fares,  occasionally,  to  and  fro 
across  the  mountains,  from  lake  to  ocean,  found  Enderby, 
not  long  ago,  watching  the  antics  of  a  team  of  young  fire 
horses  as  they  galloped  in  practice  with  a  glistening 
apparatus,  which  had  little  resemblance  to  the  "  Phoenix  "  of 
other  days. 

"  Remember  Harper,  don't  you,  Sharer?  "  Enderby  pres- 
ently asked,  in  the  course  of  their  friendly  chat,  aside. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Sharer  promptly.  "  I  have  never  lost 
sight  of  him,  in  fact." 

A  shade  of  disappointment  passed  over  his  face,  but  that 
was  speedily  swept  away  in  a  reminiscent  look  of  satisfac- 
tion. Perhaps  the  consciousness  of  a  full  confirmation  of 
his  own  earlier  judgment  of  Harper  helped,  as  a  solace  for 
the  repeated  failure  of  his  plan  to  train  his  own  successor; 
once  in  the  instance  of  his  own  son,  Dave,  and  again  in  the 
case  of  Harper,  who  had  long  since  become  as  a  son  to  him, 
but  had  left  the  old  road  for  newer  fields. 

"  Read  that,  Dave,"  continued  Enderby,  as  he  handed  out 
a  letter  bearing  the  name  of  a  great  railroad  which  was  not 
of  Sharer's  making,  although  closely  allied. 

On  the  letter-head,  Joe's  name  is  high  among  the  top- 

[870] 


MAKING        A        CHIEFTAIN 

most,  and  chief  of  them  all  is  the  name  of  the  father  of 
the  prodigal  son,  whom  Harper  one  time  headed  homeward. 
But  the  letter  was  almost  boyish,  pleading,  in  its  familiar 
phrasing.  It  ran : 

"  Dear  old  Partner: 

"  Are  you  there,  I  wonder,  and  is  it  still  well  with  you  all  ? 

"  I  hear  of  Alta  Vista,  often,  as  a  city  growing,  and,  once 
or  twice  of  late,  I  have  heard  of  you  through  the  boys  who 
scattered  from  there.  But  you  will  not  write  —  or  you  would 
not  —  and  I  am  wanting  the  sight  of  you  to-day  somehow, 
in  surprising  fashion. 

"  You  may  see  from  this  letter  that  it  is  as  you  once  said 
to  me :  *  Some  must  go  beyond  the  timber-line  of  the  crowd, 
while  some  must  work  at  tide-water.' 

"  And  some,  good  friend,  like  you,  stay  long  upon  the 
sunny  slopes  and  make  the  rest  of  us  possible. 

"  I  suspect  that  I  may  have  been  above  timber-line  too 
long,  as  you  would  say,  and  that  I  am  consequently  a  trifle 
chilled.  Write  me,  will  you  not,  for  the  once,  and  send  me 
the  feel  of  Alta  Vista? 

"  JOE." 

"  The  boy  's  tired ;  just  plumb  tired,"  nodded  Enderby, 
with  emphasis,  as  he  returned  the  letter  to  his  pocket  and 
drew  forth  another  which  he  did  not  at  once  unfold. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sharer,  understandingly.  "  He  is  tired. 
But,  he  is  elastic,  very,  and  he  will  rebound." 

"  I  wrote  him,  t'  other  day,"  continued   Enderby,   "  and 
told  him  that  we  're  a  city  that  has  no  equal  of  its  size. 
I  told  him  that  our  old  hen  has  a   brood   of  chickens  — 
that 's  the  kind  of  things  he  needs  to  know  about  now  — 
and  that  the  birds  are  nesting  and  singing,  and  the  posies 

[371] 


MASK     ENDERBY:     ENGINEER 

a-blooming  in  the  Water  Canyon,  same  as  of  old;  and  that 
you  can  see  as  far  as  ever  from  our  front  porch,  over  to  the 
mesa. 

"  And  I  said  further  to  him  that  the  Phoenix  has  come 
up  again,  finer  than  ever,  from  her  own  ashes  —  or  from 
somewheres  else,"  he  interjected,  with  a  slow  smile,  "  and 
that  he  's  to  come  out  here  this  coming  summer  and  we  '11 
meet  him  with  the  band,  and  turn  out  the  new  company,  and 
give  him  the  town.  Or,  we  '11  muzzle  it  up  still  and  quiet  for 
him,  as  to  such  doings ;  whichever  he  wants.  And  this  is 
what  he  says,"  glowed  Mark,  in  conclusion. 

Sharer  took  the  proffered  letter,  with  a  smile  at  sight  of 
the  familiar  letter-head  and  signature,  and  read: 

"  Dear  old  Marie: 

"  I  am  coming,  in  the  summer,  back  to  where,  I  sometimes 
think,  I  got  my  first  real  discipline,  and  where,  surely,  I  first 
tasted  the  wholesome  bitterness  of  defeat. 

"  I  want  to  see  the  new  Phoenix,  and  the  other  birds,  and 
things  generally.  I  will  risk  the  band,  but  if  the  fire  com- 
pany is  no  better  than  the  one  I  drilled,  please  set  a  close 
guard  around  the  freight  house,  before  you  turn  the  boys 
loose. 

"  JOE." 

"  When  we  get  that  car  of  his  into  Alta  Vista  yard, 
we'll  just  set  the  clock  back  five  years,  or  so,  for  him, 
the  first  day,  and  more  to  follow.  That 's  what  he  's  need- 
ing. He  sure  never  forgot  Alta  Vista.  None  of  the  boys 
do,"  said  Enderby,  proudly,  as  he  pocketed  the  letter. 

" l  Moreover,'  as  Halpin  says  when  he  spills  the  valve 
oil,  moreover,  Harper  has  a  boy  coming  seven  years  old. 
They  have  saddled  him  with  the  name  of  *  Joe  Enderby 

[372] 


Harper  ' —  like  as  not  you  've  heard  about  that  —  and,  tak- 
ing that  with  some  other  growing  responsibilities,  I  've  sort 
of  planned  it  out  to  make  a  little  roundup  of  the  rising 
generation,  when  Harper  and  his  wife  get  here  with  the  boy. 

"  You  see,  Sharer,  with  Johnnie  Parry's  two  busy  young 
scamps  coming  up  here,  once  in  a  while,  from  Villa  Rica ; 
with  young  Mark  Dodson  McPeltrie  —  that 's  our  Ruth's 
boy  —  coming  eight  years  and  living  next  door  to  us ;  and 
with  Willie  Dodson  and  Muller's  little  Dan  not  far  away, 
I  've  just  had  to  talk  and  keep  a-talking. 

" '  Naturally,'  as  Dodson  says  when  he  's  unnaturally  try- 
ing to  bluff  McPeltrie,  just  naturally,  with  the  eagles  cir- 
cling and  calling  up  yonder  on  the  Rim  Rock,  and  the  trout 
leaping  and  shining,  betimes,  in  the  Geyser  Water  —  why, 
I  've  told  the  youngsters  some  mighty  big  tales  of  what 
we  'd  do,  some  time,  but  none  bigger  than  the  truth,  and  I  've 
got  to  make  good  this  summer.  They  are  plaguing  me  to 
show  them. 

"  So,  I  've  sort  of  figured  out  a  schedule  for  these  delayed 
runs,  and  I  'm  to  be  despatcher,  engineer  —  the  whole  works, 
except  motive  power  —  and  that  last  will  be  burros. 

"  I  wish  you  were  going  with  us,  Dave." 

Sharer,  turning  with  a  wistful  smile  back  to  the  passing 
glory  and  the  cruel  grind  of  the  transportation  mill  to  which 
he  has  bound  himself  and  from  which,  apparently,  he  is 
unable  long  to  escape,  replied  briefly : 

"  Much  obliged,  Enderby.  So  do  I.  There  seems  to  be 
a  lively  time  not  very  far  ahead ! " 

Enderby,  deep-set  in  the  ways  of  peace  and  contentment, 
which  the  trying  years  have  made  only  more  sure,  smilingly 
answered : 

"  It  seems  mighty  likely." 

THE    END 


A     000042230     3 


